


Twilight

by Kimi_f



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Batfamily Feels, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Twilight AU, Waynes as the Cullens, maaaaybe it will be funny?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-07-10 20:12:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 68,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15956654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimi_f/pseuds/Kimi_f
Summary: Conner was sure of only three things. One, Tim was a vampire. Two, he maybe really liked the guy. And three, Tim unconditionally and irrevocably hated him.Conner has never really fit in. Pulled between a life of luxury, high expectations, and neglect with Lex or anonymity, living paycheck to paycheck, and awkward distance with Clark, Conner chooses the latter. He abandons his life in sunny Hawaii, leaving him miserable and biding his time until he can move out. That is, until he meets the dazzling Wayne family, and decides to unravel their supernatural mystery. Whether the Waynes like it or not.Twilight AU. Kind of.





	1. First Sight

Conner had never given much thought to how he would die. If he had to guess, his own bounding stupidity would be the culprit.

But, smoking his last cigarette and awaiting the executioner, the man who held his very fate like a cat toy, he couldn’t find it in himself to regret anything.

He’d started this all with a death wish, of sorts, so he might as well end it that way too.

* * *

Conner packed his bags and left the beautiful beaches of Hawaii with a heavy heart. Roxy drove him to the airport, and he tried not to let her pity sting quite so much.

He was not successful.

“You don’t have to do this.”

Conner shrugged, and turned away from her to stare out the window of the car. She was right. Except for the part where if Conner didn’t go to live with Clark now, then he was going to live with Lex. There was no telling Lex Luthor no, and certainly no convincing any grown adult that he could be allowed to live on his own in Hawaii.

“I’d be okay with having you stay with me,” Roxy continued, fingers thrumming on the steering wheel as she navigated the airport parking lot.

“Don’t be stupid. Your moving away. I can’t come with you to college.”

“I don’t have to-”

“Just promise to send me pictures of the wild parties.”

And that ended that conversation.

* * *

Situated on the coast was a gloomy city full of gothic architecture. The fog and rain were relentless, giving cover and safe haven to the citizens of Gotham year round. It was here that Conner had spent every summer for as long as he could remember (until he threw a fit and and Clark was forced to let him stay in Hawaii with Rex and Roxy). Ultimately the decision had been fueled by childishness. Conner wanted nothing to do with a “dad” who hadn’t wanted to keep him, and eventually Rex’s gambling had put a strain on Conner’s ability to keep denying Clark’s offers to move in.

It wasn’t that Rex was a bad guy, per se. Just ditzy. Forgetful. With poor judgement. It was only with the sheer power of Conner and Roxy’s combined supervision that the man kept his head above water. And with Rex up and disappeared and Roxy off to Metropolis University, Conner had been left with two options.

Move in with Lex Luthor, the man who, technically, legally, should have been Conner’s father, but who had been letting Conner run off and live on his own, supplying cash when needed, since Conner was twelve.

Or move in with Clark, Conner’s biological father, a bumbling writer or reporter or something or other who lived in a putrid city and had excommunicated Lex from his life for personal reasons that he denied every time Conner tried to bring the subject up.

Two absentee dads for the price of one, Conner liked to tell Roxy when they were commiserating their family troubles.

Clark had been predictably pleasant about the entire thing, encouraging even. Which possibly made the entire thing worse.

“I’ve been arrested, you know,” Conner said on the phone, like this would be a deterrent.

“Yeah, but you weren't charged. Do you want me to paint your room? What do you like to eat?”

And just like that, Conner had a place in Clark’s life once again like the man hadn’t ignored him for sixteen years except when absolutely necessary.

He hugged his jacket (old, leather, a gift from Roxy and Tana one Christmas) around him tighter and tried to pretend he wasn’t nervous about the forty-five minute drive ahead of him when the plane touched down.

Clark picked him up from the airport with an awkward hug and a cheerful smile. Clark was large, like some kind of modern day lumberjack, and he dressed like a dork. Sweaters and khakis and plaid layered on each other.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” was all Clark said.

Conner doubted this and sat in silence on the drive home.

* * *

Gotham sat predictably dark and grey outside Conner’s window. Somehow the gravity of his choice hadn’t hit Conner until, after a drive through winding buildings, he found himself staring up at the quaint gothic two story building Clark rented as long as Conner could remember.

What the hell was he doing? How could he possibly think that coming out here would do him any good? This wasn’t wasn’t just a case of a new school this was bigger than that. Four years Conner had spent on his own. And before that Lex hadn’t been much for company. The idea of uprooting everything he’d known his entire life for a city he hated and a man he barely knew finally made itself known as the terrible idea it was and he had half a mind to make a run for it now. At least on the streets he could avoid Clark’s well meaning smile and friendly invitation to cook dinner.

Unfortunately no matter how he looked at it, Clark seemed like the only option, so it was with a heavy heart that Conner climbed the steps into his new home.

His room was small. Closet small. The kitchen was cramped. The pipes creaked at night, and the neighbors down stairs threw dishes when they fought. Conner missed his quiet but warm place in Hawaii already.

“You’ll learn to love it,” Clark said as something downstairs shattered and a screaming match started. He did not look convinced.

Conner took a deep breath, facing his room and ignoring Clark.

He could survive this.

Step one would be minimizing the amount of problems he and Clark would have with cohabitation. Then he would have to tackle catching up in school. If he could focus exclusively on those two things, then he would be eighteen, and no amount of lawyers that Lex threw at him could keep him from running off into the sunset.

“Do you like meatloaf?” Clark asked, popping his head into Conner’s room without asking and looking clueless.

Conner sighed.

He would survive.

* * *

The Gotham Unified School District held standards exactly as abysmal as Conner had anticipated. His own school back home hadn’t been anything to brag about. Small, low buildings, 200 students max. Conner had known most of his class by first name. Outside Edward Elliot High School Conner wanted to kick himself for being so out of his depth. A large building like a cinderblock, with high fences and barbed wire all around, it sat about three bus stops away from Clark’s apartment. Metal detectors stood by every entrance and a bored guard eyed him. It looked like the kind of place that scrubbed graffiti off the walls constantly and armed teachers with guns.

He was half an hour early. Only kids looking for free breakfast were even there. Conner sighed and considered seriously skipping.

“Hey. So, you gonna stand there all day, or am I gonna get my breakfast? It’s french toast day, so you’re gonna wanna move fast.”

Conner whirled. A grinning, auburn haired boy waggled his eyebrows at Conner and waved.

“Yeah I’m talking to you hotstuff.”

“Sorry I’m new.”

All at once the boy’s attitude changed. “ _New?_ By golly gee wiz, well congratulations, today is your lucky day for I, Bart Allen, am here to be your tour guide. Vámanos.”

Conner could not have protested if he tried, because before he had even opened his mouth, Bart grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him through the the metal detector with a wave to a guard who seemed annoyed, but not enough to stop them.

“In case you were wondering, you can totally still sneak knives in if you know how to hide them,” Bart said as soon as they were out of earshot.

“I wasn’t.”

Bart grinned back at him. “Oh boy you are new. Where you from?”

“Hawaii.” Bart led him through the school courtyard towards what Conner assumed was the cafeteria.

“Sweet.”

Conner made quick friends of Bart. Sort of. Bart mostly just yammered on as they picked up free breakfast from less than pleasant cafeteria workers. Conner left Bart with no less than three invitations to sit with him at lunch “if you don’t find anyone better.”

Conner was still miserable, purely on principle at the moment, but he rather found he liked Bart’s general willingness to be nice.

With that in mind, he tried to keep his spirits up as he got his schedule from the front office and checked in properly, just in time for the first bell.

* * *

Conner felt later that it needed to be stated, on the record, that everything that happened following his arrival at school and leading up to his eventual death, was entirely the fault of the Look. The Look, and the Waynes.

School passed uneventfully for him. Bart shared English with him, and a girl named Stephanie happily offered to shepherd him to all the classes they shared (English, Chem, and Spanish) while her quiet friend followed along.

He took up Bart’s offer of a table for lunch and by the time the bell rang and he’d grabbed his food, he had no less than five people crammed around a small table, acting like they’d known him forever. Conner was finding it hard to hate Gotham entirely with such cheerful company.

They asked him about Hawaii, about beaches and volcanoes, and he happily recounted dumb field trips and trouble he and Roxy had gotten up to when left unattended. He left out Rex. And Clark. And Lex Luthor. It was nice to be normal, in some marginal way, and he decided to himself he would milk that for all he could when he looked up and locked eyes with a stranger across the room.

Startled blue eyes looked away, but it was too late. The moment sealed Conner’s fate.

“Who is that?” He asked Stephanie.

She turned around.

On the far side of the cafeteria were the five most beautiful people Conner had ever seen. One, the one he’d locked eyes with, was lean, lithe, with an angular face and a sweep of black hair. He was exceptionally pale. To his right sat a boy who looked older, almost too old for high school. He had similar piercing blue eyes and muscles for days. Across the table was a dark skinned boy, with short, black hair cropped tight to his head and a warm smile. He seemed to be talking to the youngest, who, though gorgeous in his own right with gelled up spikes and a fine featured face like a cat, scowled at his companions. The final member of their group was a girl with silky black hair, straight and chin length, and an elegant poise.

“Those are the Waynes,” Stephanie said, in a voice that heavily implied that Conner should know this and also that she did not like them very much.

“They’re...pretty,” Conner said lamely. The boy with the pale skin never looked back up at him but Conner continued to stare.

Stephanie took one look at the table and laughed. “Don’t even bother. They don’t talk to anyone but each other. It’s weird if you ask me.”

“Get turned down?” Conner couldn’t help it.

Stephanie took it in good stride and leaned over conspiratorially. “See the pasty one?”

“Yeah?”

“Timothy Drake Wayne. Crazy rich. Crazy dumped my ass after two weeks of dating,” Stephanie said with air quotes around the word dating.

Conner took her hand and looked into her eyes very seriously. “Stephanie, I know I’ve only know you for a day, but I swear on my life, and my mother’s life, that should I ever be so lucky as to date a girl like you, I would worship the ground you walked on, kiss your feet, help your mother around the house, and talk politics with your father like a real gentleman.”

“Conner Kent,” Stephanie said, tone equally somber, “I’m a lesbian.”

The jeers and hoots they got from their table audience were worth the mild flush on both their parts as they giggled and Conner released her hand.

“Are we gossiping about the Waynes?” Bart asked, steering the conversation back on track.

“Are they all Waynes?” Conner asked, skeptical given the racial diversity of the kids at the far table. He noticed with dismay as he looked back that Timothy Drake Wayne had left while he and Stephanie made their jokes.

“Oh boy, don’t you know their dad?” Bart asked, looking excited at the prospect of gossip. “It’s Bruce Wayne.”

“ _The_ Bruce Wayne?”

“The very same. He does the whole Angelina Jolie thing and picks up kids like accessories,” Stephanie said.

“That’s nice.” Conner said, “So what’s their deal?”

“They’re deal is they’re rich, better than everyone, and don’t talk to anyone. Approach at your own risk,” Stephanie said.

The conversation then helpfully jumped to the topic of English class, and then to dreaded P.E. in last period. Conner allowed himself to follow it loosely, thoughts preoccupied with the minor celebrities who apparently attended his public school.

* * *

It would be Conner’s luck that on the first day, at a new school, with barely new friends, he wound up sitting next to Timothy Drake Wayne in Chemistry.

It wasn’t fair, really. The raven haired beauty took one look at Conner as the boy sank into his newly assigned seat and practically shuddered in revulsion. He glared with barely concealed venom, and pointedly scooted his seat away from Conner’s general direction.

They were off to a fantastic start.

“Welcome, class, back to school, I know summer has been long and that many of you have forgotten last year's safety demo, so let’s revisit it, shall we?” a Ms. Isley said. She was a redheaded woman, with a clipped tone, and the way the class bolted upright told Conner she was not to be trifled with.

She proceeded to use one of the lab tables, several chemicals, and with utter delight, set said table on fire.

“Chemistry is dangerous,” she told them, standing above the flames looking a little bit like a supervillain. “Make sure to wear closed toed shoes on lab day.”

They spent the rest of class taking notes. Conner doodled in his notebook and tried to ignore the feeling of dread that emanated from Tim’s tiny presence. Once or twice he looked up, only to see the other boy flinch and scowl, like his looking had been offensive. Conner resolved to ignore him. Tim hated him on what appeared to be zero grounds, and Conner...well Conner could play ball. He resolved to hate Tim just as hard and shot the boy a glare minutes before the bell rang.

As Tim darted out of the class, Bart approached Conner with sympathy in his eyes.

“I think he likes me,” Conner said, looking after Tim's retreating form. Bart laughed and they walked together to Gym.

* * *

When the day’s end came, and Conner found himself in a better mood than when it had started. After all, he’d killed it in gym, had at least three new friends, and the school had a weightlifting class that he was kind of actually looking into signing up for.

In all his life, Conner had never found school so easy. With Lex it had been homeschooling as an excuse to keep him from seeing other people (especially Clark). And with Rex no one had cared if he went to school but the administration. He was so used to the faculty knowing his name that there was palpable relief from the anonymity his new life was turning out to offer.

And if some rich kid happened to hate him? Well, Conner had faced far worse and come out the other side the better for it.

His phone buzzed on his bus commute back from school.

**_3 Unread Messages_ **

**_Clark: Ordered chinese. In fridge. Ask Roy for key. We’ll get you one this weekend._ **

**_Lex: When are you moving back to Metropolis?_ **

**_Roxy: Got a message from dad. Call me._ **

Conner sighed, good mood dissipating, and deleted Lex’s message and number from his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at DC*  
> Give conner back pls


	2. Open Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner settles into his new life nicely, and talks about horses.

Conner Kent’s life had always been largely treated like something that did not belong to him. Lex had always treated him with the assumption that Conner should and would do what he said. Clark himself had signed Conner away to Lex years ago, like children were just items you could pawn off on other people. Rex had at least been open about his exploitation, recruiting Conner and Roxy both into countless get rich quick schemes.

That’s why when he received his daily texts over the course of the week from Lex about the opportunities in Metropolis, he deleted them without looking. He was pretty sure Lex’s secretary Mercy was the one sending them anyways.

He entertained the idea, briefly, of letting the kids at school know that he was the ward of the one and only CEO of LexCorp, but decided against it. New life, new Conner. One that didn’t have to be tied down to anybody.

He would have to call Roxy though. New Conner or not he wouldn’t feel ok letting her deal with Rex alone. But that could wait. He told himself that over and over again as he got ready for school.

Stephanie was, officially, Conner’s favorite. She offered all the best gossip, and was always on board when Conner started spinning outrageous tall tales for her group of friends. At lunch there was no sign of the Waynes in the large, open cafeteria, to which Stephanie had only shrugged. “I’m in AP Art with Tim and he’s always missing,” she said.

Tim was still missing come chemistry class, to which Conner loudly proclaimed good riddance when Bart came over.

But Tim was missing the next day too, and despite himself, Conner wondered if he was ok.

“It’s a big school, maybe he switched classes,” Bart supplied, distracted by trying to get the attention of Jaime across the table.

“I know, but it’s just weird. I mean it’s the first week of school.” His concerns went ignored.

* * *

Conner hated himself for it, but summoning the will to call Roxy was becoming increasingly difficult. He told himself it was the new armload of homework, adjusting to the city, to Clark. But in reality, even with homework, it wasn’t a bad life. He found the apartment incredibly grim and dark. Very little natural lighting could squeeze in through the tiny colonial windows. The dark wood floors and shitty panelled walls made everything feel cramped. But it was reliable. He was never locked out, and his room offered the best view of the city. He found himself, most days, eating dinner at a kitchen table for two squeezed in behind the sofa and old school CRT TV.

“It’s from college,” Clark supplied with an apologetic smile as he tried to help Conner hook up his XBox one evening.

“Do you even have Netflix?”

Clark hesitated. “That’s...the online video thing, right?”

“Unbelievable.”

They sat at the dinner table together that night, and Clark made a concerted effort to parent Conner. Conner hated every second of it. The man had the nerve to be technologically oblivious, serve him microwave lasagna, and then ask him about his feelings.

“How was your day?”

“Boring.”

“Are kids being nice to you at school.”

“They’re high schoolers.”

“Point taken. But do you like your classes?”

Conner thought the school questions were bad, but then Clark started derailing into more dangerous territory.

“Have you talked to Lex lately?”

“...No.”

“You were in Hawaii for a long time...do you miss it?”

“It’s whatever.”

“Do you maybe want to visit? For Christmas or something?”

Conner gave Clark his best what-on-earth-do-you-think-you’re-doing face and hoped it conveyed how mortally offended he felt about this line of inquiry.

Clark wilted. “I just mean. I was just asking because...you’ve been through a lot Conner. You’ve grown up a lot-”

“Amazing how kids do that.”

Clark guiltily stared down at the last of their microwave dinner. Conner didn’t pity the other man. Really. But they did have to live together, so he tried something he’d never done before. Clark was a reporter, Conner was mostly sure.

“Did you know Bruce Wayne’s kids go to my school?” he tried as his first (and only) sort of conversational olive branch.

Clark lit up immediately. “Really? I’d heard they went to public school. Are they nice?”

“They’re jerks.”

Clark frowned. “That’s unfortunate. Bruce really is a great man. I’ve met him a few times. I’ve done interviews for charity events and sometimes the family puts together these really amazing humanitarian projects. The Wayne’s own a bunch of homeless shelters and they’ve done a lot to improve the mental health facilities in Gotham. Bruce’s father was a doctor even…” Clark trailed off seeming to realize he was rambling.

“I mean, I didn’t mean they were jerks. But people _say_ they are. And they keep to themselves a lot.”

“Let people talk,” Clark said, “I’ve met Bruce Wayne. He’s a good man.”

And the conversation died.

* * *

Sleep didn’t come to Conner easily that night. Pipes continued to grown. Unpleasant neighbors continued to shout, and thoughts of rich socialites and gambling deadbeat dads played on repeat in his mind until he pushed himself upright and reached for the phone.

* * *

Conner showed up to school the next day with bags under his eyes and a smile that was more reflex than joy or actually faking it. If Stephanie noticed, the only sign was the slight down tilt of her lip as she greeted him in the morning, but it vanished as soon as it was there.

As much as Stephanie had been open about Conner not being her type, she was a genuinely pretty girl. Blonde, with kind eyes, and nearly always laughing. She would have been just his type if it weren’t for how much she resembled Roxy. The thought of his foster sister soured his mood again.

Roxy’s call had been tired. She wasn’t given to hysterics. Rex had phoned her from Tijuana. Ostensibly he was on the run because of false accusations of embezzlement. He’d had robbed a bank for funds and ditched all his things, and crossed the border. Supposedly. Roxy’s tired tone told him she didn’t believe it either. And frankly it was exhausting.

“I don’t know what to do. I think he needs help.”

“Forget him, Roxy.”

Conner felt like he should care, but instead he felt like an overrung dishrag and he and Roxy had agreed to keep in touch and call should they hear anything from Rex again.

The school day was made marginally better by the presence of the Waynes back at their usual table in the cafeteria.

“Back from their shopping trip I’m sure,” Stephanie said when she caught Conner looking.

Conner nodded. “In Paris, almost certainly.”

“I bet they have a private jet.”

“How many horses do you think they own?” Bart asked.

Stephanie laughed and considered this question seriously. “Five. One for each.”

“No way,” Conner said, “Three to four each.”

“That’s absurd.”

“How are you even going to test this bet?” One of Stephanie’s friends piped up. Grace? Greta? The quiet one anyways, with the pale washed out features and constantly grim face.

“Conner sits next to Tim in chemistry. Think you can work your charm, big boy?” Stephanie asked.

And seeing as Conner’s day certainly couldn’t get worse, and he was gunning for a distraction, he gave her a grin. “What do I get if I win?”

* * *

Shockingly, at least to his new city friends, Conner had _very_ strong opinions about horses and rich people.

First there was Hawaii. Hawaii was an alright place for people into horses, it being warm and tropical. But the worst thing was probably the tourists. Horse tours were one of many distractions offered by tacky companies to get rich white folks to part with their money, and Conner resented them the same way he resented the dozens of stores that closed every off season, snowbirds who voted in a state they didn’t live year round, and unnecessary golf courses that eliminated the parks and undeveloped land Conner used to explore when he was in middle school.

Second was cost. A cheap horse was _maybe_ two thousand dollars, but often they went for over ten thousand. You could get a car, multiple cars even, for the price of horse. And while technically Conner could get whatever he wanted if he agreed to go back to Lex, he’d been gleeful the first time he’d made enough cash to send Lex’s money right back to him, and hadn’t been near a horse since his uneventful and miserable childhood of private lessons in boring sports.

And finally, perhaps most hideously: in order to play polo you needed _multiple_ horses. This point in particular was one that Conner found mortifying. Mostly because it meant admitting he had played polo, a sport so rich you had to switch horses every seven minutes. It was perhaps the worst thing Lex had forced him into lessons for.

Timothy Drake Wayne looked exactly like the kind of guy who played polo. Conner would definitely know.

He wore a dark red turtleneck to school that day. He looked good, though Conner suspected he always did and always would, and would drop out of school for Ralph Lauren magazine cover life as soon as he could. Not that Conner wouldn’t kill to be so lucky himself, but he tended to take after Clark and was less pretty boy more lumberjack.

Tim sat at the lab table he and Conner shared in chemistry looking stiff and unapproachable as ever, but as Conner strode confidently to take his seat next to the kid who hated him, icy blue eyes locked onto him.

Apparently having never been told staring was rude, Tim continued to watch him.

Conner, who had had an entire plan laid out involving irritating Tim into talking to him, was having a hard time figuring out how this new behavior factored into things. Figuring he couldn’t at all lower Tim’s opinion of him, he leaned towards the other boy (Tim leaned back on reflex) and said:

“Hi, we didn’t get to know each other last class. My name’s Conner.”

Tim looked down at his hand and Conner was reminded of the uptight finicky white women who frequented the hotels near his house back home and had once remarked that Tana was particularly articulate for a “native” while clutching their pearls. He felt his dislike grow for the boy, and retracted his hand when it became apparent Tim wasn’t going to shake it.

“I’m Tim,” he said at last.

Conner rolled his eyes and turned to face the front of the room as Ms. Isley explained the lab. Something about identifying elements based on the color of fire. Conner was both excited and terrified. Excited because fire in a school. Terrified because he was so very bad at this.

Tim made maximum effort to avoid contact with Conner the entire lab. He rolled up his sleeves and set to work in a manner that suggested he was very comfortable with all the equipment laid out for them. He didn’t even look at Conner as he started putting samples to the flame and muttering to himself.

“Copper.”

Conner rushed to jot it down in his own notes.

Tim, predictably, had a hardcover spiral bound black notebook with neat, even handwriting. Conner had a Spider-Man folder with the lab print out sitting on top and large, unsteady letters. Tim eyed his stack of loose papers warily and wisely nudged the open flame closer to his side of the table.

Conner tried to help with the lab. Tim put another sample to the flame, and Conner incorrectly identified it as Lithium.

“Calcium,” Tim said.

At that point Conner gave up and let Tim lead. They finished early, with Tim doing most of the work, and Conner took it as his opportunity.

“So, what do you do around Gotham for fun?” At Tim’s questioning glance he quickly added, “I’m from Hawaii.”

For the first time Tim looked at him with something other than utter distaste. Instead he looked utterly perplexed, eyebrows flying up and frown vanishing before he schooled his features back into his rich boy mask.

Got you, Conner thought.

“Hawaii...that’s far.”

“Yeah, well,” Conner leaned forward, elbows on the lab table. “Couldn’t stay there after they arrested my foster dad.”

Tim looked utterly torn between wanting to believe Conner and wanting to get very far away.

“For what?”

Conner put on his best bad boy face. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Tim still looked skeptical, but Conner knew he had him because even as he tried to look disinterested he said, “You don’t know me.”

Rich kids were easy to play for fools. Conner knew this well, having been one himself.

“Really? Well. My foster dad was a chronic gambler. He got into some pretty deep shit.” Conner kept his personal opinion on said shit to himself for the sake of the ruse.

“Huh.”

Tim looked completely lost in thought. He gazed ahead into space, and almost without thinking seemed to reach for his notebook. The contemplative look was definitely not the one Conner was expecting, so he decided to bite the bullet.

“You ever ride a horse?” He asked, tone light and conversational.

Unfortunately Tim seemed to snap out of his daze, and his eyes narrowed at Conner. “Yes.”

“Summer camp?” Conner asked, even though he knew that was baloney.

Tim hesitated for a long time before answering. “My...mother wanted me to learn.”

“Oh, did she like horses?”

“Somewhat?”

“Do you own any?”

Tim scowled. “No.”

Conner, for the life of him, couldn’t fathom a world in which someone as rich as the Waynes ought to be didn’t own a horse. He also didn’t like losing. “Not one?”

“No. Why would I own a horse? I do have a cow-”

“Everyone knows rich people own horses!” Conner said a little too loud. Across the room Stephanie dropped the sample she was holding. “If you don’t own horses, how rich can you actually be. I bet you don’t even play polo. I mean Jesus everyone was playing you guys up to be some uber rich celebrity family. But you’re just like the rest of us aren’t you. You’re horse poor.”

“That’s, what?” Tim’s face quickly ran through the gamut of confused, annoyed, and enraged. “I have _no idea_ what you’re going on about.”

Conner didn’t care anymore, preoccupied with how Tim had ruined a perfectly good bet by not being the kind of rich kid to play polo after all.

“Don’t worry,” Conner said, voice dripping with sympathy, “We’re all horse poor in this world.”

Tim bolted faster than Conner thought possible when the bell rang at last for the end of class. Stephanie came up to him.

“Un-fucking-believable. Not a single horse,” Conner said, head in his hands.

“You owe me chicken nuggets,” Stephanie said, looking pleased.

“Actually, technically he doesn’t own _any_ horses so you both lose,” Jaime came up behind them, Bart in tow and the group headed to their next classes. Bart accompanied Conner to gym where they played out part two of the epic volleyball tournament they had started earlier in the week and where Conner let thoughts of Tim and his pretty face fade completely from his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to give fair warning, I intend for this to follow twilight pretty closely up to a specific plot point, then to make a hard left. Depending on your definition of left. 
> 
> I'm also a chronic "writes it and posts it as I go" person so typos will disappear as I have time to re read my work.


	3. Phenomenon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After settling into a relatively normal school life, Conner is hit with a new mystery.

The weeks of school passed by with Conner settling into a rather comfortable routine.  He got up early in the morning. Insomnia? Noisy neighbors? Both? And spent it studying, a habit he never had in his old life. Clark was almost always already up, brewing coffee, and would leave with a wave and a bagel in hand telling Conner not to miss school.

Conner would throw on his leather jacket, grab his bag, and walk to the bus stop in silence. At school he’d meet with Stephanie and Bart and their friends before the bell, and then he’d spend the rest of the day bouncing between classes with various friends before lunch.

Lunch managed to always be a fun affair of conspiratorial whispering with Stephanie about the Waynes. She liked to make up extravagant adventures about them, touting it as The Lives of the Rich and Beautiful ™.

“See Damian over there?” She said, not even bothering to hide her pointing. “He’s angry because Jason has run off with his lover.”

“Who’s his lover?” Bart asked.

“A Russian girl he met when they were absent last week. Her name is Katya and they were in _love_.”

Chemistry was right after lunch, and Conner got used to the fact Tim seemed to be absent more often than not, and when present shirked away from Conner. Still, he felt almost certain that Tim stared at him, and had caught the other’s gaze several times. Conner’s increased glares did not seem to discourage it. When he asked Stephanie, she claimed Tim had told her long ago Bruce liked to take them  _camping_ if the sun was out, and that Tim hated everyone and not to take it personally.

Then he would go to gym, where he killed it, and then he would go home by the same bus he used to get to school. He’d delete messages from Lex, he’d talk awkwardly with Clark over dinner, then rinse and repeat the entire thing.

And then there was what Stephanie dubbed “the van incident”.

* * *

It was well known by everyone that the Waynes rode in style. A needlessly expensive slick black car with a personal driver dropped the five off everyday. It was like watching real celebrities walk down the red carpet when the Waynes emerged from their vehicle with excessive grace. The first time Conner saw it he rolled his eyes and turned on his heel so that he could avoid Tim seeing him get off the bus.

Conner took the city bus. Fare was cheap, cheaper for students, and the apartment was honestly in walking distance if Conner didn’t want to avoid it. Most students took some kind of bus, school or otherwise, simply because Gotham traffic was unmanageable.

Still Edward Elliot High School was technically situated in a more well to do part of the city, and only a few of the neighborhoods it was zoned for were as poor as Clarks. Kids showed up to school in Ferraris and Porsches all the time for the sake of showing off. Stephanie constantly threatened to throw rocks at kids in the parking lot who revved their engines too loudly.

All this to say that, Conner, for his part, did not interact too much with vehicles of any sort. Roxy had a jeep back home, but for the most part he never needed to be in the parking lot and the only reason he had been in the first place was because Jaime had been eager to show them all his latest piece of art.

It was early enough the lot wasn’t full yet, and rain that had started earlier in the morning meant the four of them were drenched and huddling under Stephanie’s umbrella.

Jaime was Bart’s friend, as far as Conner could tell, and his dad was a mechanic with his own shop. Jaime had the head of a mechanic, a bleeding heart, and put up with Bart’s endless chatter in a way that made both Stephanie and Conner eternally indebted to him. He was also responsible for Bart’s terrible attempts at Spanglish, however, so they considered it even.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Jaime said.

It was pouring rain, Conner was soaked to the bone, t-shirt sticking to his skin under his jacket. Stephanie, though dressed for the rain, looked equally miffed to be out. Bart, who dressed in nothing but his track clothes from early morning practice, seemed to be the only one excited.

“It looks great Jaime!” he said, eagerly circling the vehicle to inspect.

The car in question was a tiny, ancient Volkswagen Beetle. It was painted a gorgeous sky blue, a paint job Jaime was quite proud of, and, according to Jaime, was so sturdily rebuilt she’d run for eternity without breaking down. He called her the Blue Beetle.

“You rebuild cars a lot?” Conner asked, not wanting to be rude.

Jaime shrugged. “It’s my dad’s hobby, really, but he let me have this one. There’s a pick-up truck waiting in the garage though that I’m hoping he’ll let me have because he’s been so busy lately.”

The pause and the nervous habit of biting his lip gave Jaime away as not being totally honest, but Conner didn’t push.

“You know none of us will fit in there,” Stephanie said.

“Sorry,” Jaime said, “but my parents didn’t want me to spring for anything too big. They were worried about my driving-”

It happened very fast, and Conner barely registered it even as it occurred. One moment they were standing there, chatting in the rain and trying to be nice the Jaime, the next they heard a screech, a flash of white and-

-Conner hit his head on the pavement.

He must’ve blacked out. Maybe. But he couldn’t be sure. Someone in a white van had demolished what had once been Jaime’s car. The small bug had been pushed clear across the parking lot, it's front end demolished.

Conner laid sprawled out on the pavement, and it took him awhile to realize that A. He had been directly in the way of the incoming vehicle and B. He had been pushed.

And his savior was swearing.

“You motherfuckers are lucky I was paying attention. Jesus fucking Christ what do you think you were doing?” It was one of the Wayne boys. Not Tim. Jay something.

“Jason I’m so sorry,” the girl in the van squeaked. Her large white vehicle looked like it hadn't hit anything. 

Van girl was blonde, and would have been cute if it weren’t for the pigtails, the goggles on her head, and the incredibly bright red joggers he saw as she exited the vehicle.

“And you idiots, what are you doing standing around the fucking parking lot like that?” Jason screamed. Conner’s friends looked appropriately terrified. Jason was big, clearly packing muscle under a brown leather jacket and fingerless gloves. Conner loathed to admit it but he liked the guy's style, even if he was being a total dick at the moment.

He stood shakily.

“Be careful,” Van Girl appeared at his side in an instant.

“I’m fine,” he insisted.

“No you aren’t.” They both turned to see Tim and one of his other sibling, the Damian kid, standing directly behind them. “We saw what happened is everyone ok?”

Conner raised a thumb, “Topsy turvey for a bit, but ok. And wet.”

Tim looked at Jason with the same distaste that Conner saw him use on the rest of his classmates. “Jason, leave them alone.”

Jason looked at Tim, back to the scene of the accident and then scowled. He walked over to Conner roughly grabbed and scrutinized his face. Up close Jason had the rugged good looks of an old movie star. Like the all American Cowboy type, if a bit young. If Conner hadn't been so dazed he'd have appreciated it more.

“You,” Jason said, “I pushed you pretty hard. Get your head checked.”

And with that loving advice, the Waynes walked away, leaving Conner cold and with a throbbing head. 

* * *

Predictably, the morning’s accident was the only thing the school was talking about. At least the parts of the school Conner cared about. It even made it onto the school news in third period, with a gentle reminder of traffic rules and seat belts and stuff. The girl had been freaking out. She called her mom, and Jaime mourned his car as they traded insurance cards and called a tow truck. The guy with the tow nodded at Jaime and asked about his dad's leg, and Jaime shooed everyone into class.

"Don't skip on my account," he said.

The girl who almost killed him made herself known as Cassie, and apologized constantly for the rest of the day. It turned out Conner had English with her.

“I’m also in Gym class. We were partners for the last volleyball practice,” she reminded him gently, looking heartbroken.

“Uh….I thought that was Cissie?”

If at all possible Cassie’s face fell further as Mrs. Bruner started handing back last week’s pop quiz. “No, Cissie’s that blonde girl in the front row.”

The girl in question was tall, lean, athletic, blonde, and wearing a pound of make-up. Conner cringed internally at his own mistake. As Bruner handed him his paper. Conner looked at his 56% correct and sighed. He’d had to guess the entire time because _Wuthering Heights_ was impossibly hard to decipher. Cassie noticed.

“I could tutor you, if you like,” she said, “as sorry for the car thing?”

Conner liked Cassie. Really she seemed nice. “Er, no that’s ok.”

But he was going to live in this shame alone, thanks.

Cassie even joined them for lunch, squeezing between Greta and Stephanie and offering more apologies. And if Tim was missing from his family’s table at lunch, and their shared desk in chemistry, Conner didn’t notice.

Conner did eventually go to the nurse at Stephanie’s insistence, and was told to “take it easy”. The P.E. teacher, an old crow of a man, didn’t even let Conner play badminton.

* * *

School let out, and Conner went out to the bus stop, expecting it to be the same as the last few weeks, plus the addition of rain. Then a thought occurred to him.

His head still ached, and not being able to play in P.E. had given Conner time to sit and think, which inevitably led to thoughts that mostly centered on problems he couldn’t solve. Where was Rex now and was he ok? Was Roxy having a good time at college? Did Tana ever miss him? Did Kay?

When he got sentimental, sometimes Conner liked to sneak out of the window in his room, a task he discovered days into his stay that took some contortion but allowed him privacy and a view from the roof and a place to smoke. He figured on a day like the one he’d had Roxy would forgive a cigarette.

Conner didn’t smoke. Usually. The last time Roxy had caught him with cigarettes she had made him smash them in front of her. But that didn’t mean she didn’t. Do as I say not as I do, she had always said good naturedly. She also had sent him packing to Gotham with the last one in her pack. She’d handed it to him with a sigh. “Smoke it for me when you miss me.”

And Conner missed her. He missed her so much.

His mind made up, Conner decided to walk, and avoid the nuisance of public transit. In the rain, boots sloshing and rain weighing down his already heavy leather coat, he walked home.

Gotham smelled a bit like sewer and fall. The normally grim faces of the buildings along the main street by his school were extra grey in the diffuse lighting of the steady downpour. Conner took to counting the slabs of crooked concrete that made up the sidewalk, and admiring the the old and mismatched assortment of buildings and lamps. Sometimes he'd see a storefront that looked like it had been pulled from the 1920s, and other times an office building would wear the skin of what once must have been an old cathedral. Though nothing about Gotham held the homey, rugged nature of his old cabin. 

Conner felt more than saw that he was being followed. Rex had always been paranoid about people, claiming they were out to get him or following him. Sometimes he was right, and his outrageous debts caught up to him. Sometimes he was just paranoid. Conner sincerely hoped he was just paranoid, but when he turned down a less busy side street towards his neighborhood he began to doubt it.

The guy tailing him was acting odd, shaking his head furiously. Conner could only see him from the corner of his eye because he didn’t want to turn fully and risk a confrontation.

He wasn’t worried, he told himself.

Unfortunately Conner had never walked to school, and had only eyed the route from a seat on the grimy bus, so it took only one wrong turn for him to realize he was completely going the wrong way, turn around, and come face to face with bloodshot eyes.

The man was ragged, and still shaking violently, but Conner figured no reason to be a hasty judge, and made to squeeze past the guy in the narrow, dark alley.

“Hey! Hold on a sec,” his voice was raspy as all get out, and Conner picked up the pace, only to be yanked back by a hand on his upper arm. The man had to have some strength because moving Conner was like moving an ox, or so he had been told, “Can I talk to you for a minute, it will only take a minute.”

Up close, the guy was bigger and scarier than Conner had realized. He stood half a head taller than him, hair soaked in the rain, eyes glaring down from a face that would have been handsome if he bothered. Dark coat pulled over a grey hoodie made him seem larger, and he had a wicked grin.

“You are very new to town, aren’t ya?” He said,

Conner stepped back uneasily, and tried to remember the few times Sam or Kay had gotten into the boxing ring with him. He would be fine. Worse came to worse he’d hand over his wallet and go on his way.

For the second time that day, Conner found his life played out in ultra high definition as adrenaline pumped and several things happened at once.

The man pulled a gun and aimed it at Conner. Conner stumbled and fell on his ass as he tried to get away. And Timothy Drake Wayne who had previously not been present, appeared to drop down from the sky and total the guy. The man with the gun crumpled, a gunshot sounded, and before Conner could register that Tim had moved, the gun was skidding across the alley, and the man was roughly restrained via zip tie, which definitely did not make Conner feel any safer.

Conner looked up in shock even as his heart hammered in his chest. “Y-you! You!”

Rain poured down in a constant stream, pasting Tim’s hair to his head as he regarded Conner with a level of coolness that was simply unacceptable for someone with a bullet hole in their cashmere sweater. What right did he have to be ninja diving off rooftops anyways? He didn’t even look winded, pale skin free of scrapes or bruises, and clothes still pressed save the sweater.

“What?” Tim glared, as was his manner.

“How did you do that?” Conner asked in lieu of the dozens of better questions he could have asked. His vision swam a bit. Did he hit his head again?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” A beat. “I take Taekwondo lessons at home.”

Now Conner had always been more of a boxing and MMA kind of guy, but he was pretty sure Taekwondo was not a skydiving kind of sport and-

“How did you even _know_ I was here. Wait you were shot!” Conner started to freak out from where he sat on the muddy sidewalk. Tim was probably a serial killer, he was probably waiting the last few weeks to get Conner alone. This was probably pay back for the horse thing.

Saying a prayer to God in the hopes that if he did exist Conner’s hedonistic upbringing wouldn’t kill his chances at the pearly gates, he accepted his fate. If he died, at least he had lived life to the fullest. And Stephanie would probably avenge him.

“ _What_ are you babbling about?” Tim looked horrified. Conner wondered how much he’d been saying out loud. Tim’s black designer boots stopped just shy of Conner’s reach and he looked uneasy. Sirens sounded in the distance. “I called the cops.”

Conner looked at the prone man, now restrained, groaning at the end of the alley. “But- _”_

“Later.” Tim said, as a cop car pulled up to the street beside the alley and a couple officers got out.

Conner did not believe for one second Tim was telling the truth, but his brain felt hazy, and when he tried to argue with the officers on the scene, the older guy smiled and was so at ease, that Conner found himself being shuffled into the back of a car before he could even register it had happened.

* * *

Officer Grayson was criminally charming, and should have been arrested and charged as such, preventing him from being a police officer in the first place. It was, simply put, unfair to Conner’s mental health to have to answer questions when, every other word, he was getting an encouraging smile and “are you sure you don’t want something to eat?” from a man with eyes so blue Conner could get lost in them. And did. Multiple times.

Officer Grayson cleared his throat. “Uh, are you ok?”

Conner snapped out of it. “Fine. What was the question?”

Behind Grayson’s back Tim scoffed and glared even more heavily at Conner. Conner blatantly ignored him in favor of Officer Grayson. Tim had ditched the cashmere sweater, and Conner had no idea where it had gone. Hopefully into evidence or something. However, if Tim had been shot, he seemed perfectly ok now.

Tim and Conner had been dragged back to the station to give statements by Officer Grayson and his partner Bertinelli, who was tall and terrifying, and threatened to break multiple bones in Conner’s body. It might have been a good cop/bad cop routine but Conner was too tired to care.

The precinct office was crammed full of people, and the corner desk Grayson had sat him at was stacked precariously with paperwork. Two people were arguing over a dry erase board, a TV mounted to the wall by another office played NBC news on a loop. It was almost too much for Conner’s senses to bear, but the level gaze and reassuring smile of Grayson kept him somewhat grounded.

“Is that everything you can tell me?” Grayson repeated softly.

Conner nodded. “I’m just tired. It’s fine. I don’t wanna press charges. Tim drop kicked the guy anyways.”

Grayson turned to look at Tim critically. All Tim did was shrug, looking surly, and Grayson sighed.

“I’m going to grab some paperwork. I’ll be a few minutes. Please don’t touch anything.”

And with that he was gone. Conner’s head was still aching from earlier in the day, but not enough to stop him from turning to Tim, who stood behind Grayson’s desk peering “innocently” at the papers strewn about.

“Alright, seriously, what the fuck happened?”

Tim looked up. They locked eyes. Conner was glad Tim was so unpleasant or he might have been as dumbstruck with him as he had been with Officer Grayson.

“You hit your head really hard today,” Tim said, in no way answering the question and picking up a manila envelope from the desk.

“And you got shot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I was walking down to the bus stop when I noticed you were in trouble. You must have hit your head really hard.”

Conner glared. “You jumped down from the roof and _you had a zip tie_.”

Tim was a very very bad liar because the look he was trying to pass as confusion was so obviously fake that if Conner wasn’t quite so worried about starting a fight in a police station he would have decked him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Conner. You have a concussion.”

Conner seethed. “I do not. There’s a hole in your sweater. The police will see it.”

“I didn’t have a sweater on today. You’re confused.” Suddenly Tim dropped the folder.

Officer Grayson rounded the corner, Bertinelli in tow. “Tim, you’re free to go. Conner, could you go with Officer Bertinelli?"

Conner turned to Tim. “This isn’t over.”

But he was already walking away. Conner glanced over to the desk to see that, in his rush, Tim had managed to knock a newspaper clipping loose from the file.

_Mysterious Murder in Robinson Park_

* * *

After some rough handling and paperwork from Bertinelli, Conner found himself back at Grayson's desk. He had tried to ask the other officer about the gun maybe having gone off, but she’d looked at him like he was insane and explained that there had been no gun at the scene, according to both the mugger and Tim's statement. Besides they'd conducted a thorough search of the scene and found only trash. Her face betrayed nothing but her overly forceful tone convinced Conner she had to be in on it with Tim. There was no other explanation. He didn't hallucinate the gun. After that all his questions were similarly shut down. Conner resolved to go back the alley later and see if he could find the thing himself.

Not able to help himself, he used a pencil to gently lift the flap of the topmost manila folder on Grayson's desk. He got as far as “Murder in Gotham City Park” and a gruesome photo of a dead man before Officer Grayson was back.

Conner had never been huge on cops. He was arrested once, in Hawaii, for something he didn’t do no less, and had had a generally good time being harassed for weeks afterwards. If you had asked him even a week ago he would have had a lot of angry things to say, and he had no doubt that big city cops were worse. Still, Conner was smitten where the young officer was concerned was concerned, and jumped away from the desk. Grayson smiled.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he said.

“Satisfaction brought it back,” Conner muttered.

Grayson chuckled. He then surveyed the surrounding area, looking dismayed. “Tim took off fast.”

“He probably thinks he has better things to do than hang around a police station,” Conner said, with a sniff.

“Is that so?”

“Yeah he’s kind of always like that.”

“Always like what?”

“Rude.”

“Please do tell.”

Conner heaved a great sigh, ready to regale the willing officer with his story of woe. “Tim sits next to me in chemistry and he is the _worst._ He thinks because his dad is _Bruce Wayne_ he can just, do whatever. All he does is glare at me and lie to my face.”

“Hm. Well that sure is rude. Would you like me to talk to Bruce about that?” Grayson said, grin growing.

Sensing dangerous territory, Conner paused. “...what?”

“I might have some sway,” Grayson continued, leaning forward, “being Tim's brother all.”

Conner spluttered, "You? But Tim...and then, if he, if you were-"

Grayson winked and laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t we get you something to eat and a doctor for that head?”

* * *

Grayson turned out to be good company, and set Conner up with an ice cream and a quick trip to a medical center around the block. Unfortunately, his mood dipped from there. Clark showed up acting worried as ever, and the doctor insisted he had a mild concussion and needed to take it easy. His thoughts played through the events of the alleyway, the police station, and Bertinelli on repeat, and with each reexamination Conner's confusion grew. Were the cops idiots or just under the Wayne's thumb? Was Grayson? 

His agitation grew all the more when Grayson had to leave.

“The streets of Gotham need me,” he told Conner with a salute.

Conner returned the gesture and went home with Clark.

Clark, who was a mess.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” He asked for a millionth time. He hadn’t stopped asking since the hospital. “Why didn’t you call me earlier? I would have picked you up.”

“I’m fine,” Conner slammed the door to the car and marched into the house while Clark scrambled after him. He had no reason to be angry with Clark, not really, but that didn’t stop him from storming to his room to mope. He really didn't want to talk to Clark today. And even if he did, he doubted that Clark would believe him about the cops and the lying. No one had believed him in Hawaii. Even Tana had "distanced" herself from him.

Conner’s room really was tiny. Barely fitting his twin bed, with a sloped roof, and a window that looked out onto the city. His desk was crammed in an alcove and he had about three feet space between his desk chair and bed. There was a landline on his desk beside his hand me down laptop, and he and Clark had had to purchase a network extender for his room because the wifi was abysmal. His own phone dinged, and he ignored it. If it was Roxy she would call. If it was Lex, he could go fuck himself at the moment.

He tried to lie and bed and ignore the fact his heart was hammering. Stupid heart. It had a habit of doing that for no reason.

All this because of a cigarette, he thought.

“Roxy, why is this so hard?” he asked the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls enjoy officer grayson and raging bisexual conner kent


	4. Invitations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner's a popular boy.

Conner didn’t get around to smoking that cigarette. At some point he passed out and had dreams about pretty boys in cop uniforms. Except he was the cop. And it wasn’t Grayson but _Tim_ batting his eyes up at him and asking if he wanted to go to the hospital. And Conner was placed under arrest for the murder of a man in a park. And then the scene was Hawaii and Tim was talking to a shark.

He tried not to read to much into it as he showered and got ready for the day.

Clark did an admirable job of trying not to hover. He looked exhausted. With bags under his eyes and an apologetic smile he handed Conner a thermos of soup, ruining any goodwill he might have earned.

“Ma showed me how to make it,” he said, “it’s meant for colds, but I figured a mild concussion is good enough reason to make it.”

Conner would have said no, but he was already running late, and the busses were not keen on waiting.

“One more thing,” Clark said, just as he stepped out the door, “I talked to Lex.”

“You told Lex?” He wondered if Officer Grayson would really hold it against him if Clark went missing.

“He was going to find out eventually. Better it was from me. You may have to talk to him.”

Conner decided to stop talking to Clark for the rest of the day.

* * *

The call didn’t come for several hours. Instead he got to go to school, dread weighing in his stomach, and pretended to find his classmates distracting while his brain prepared the five page essay it would take to convince Lex to back off. He failed another quiz, and even Tim, who still sat as far away from him as possible in Chemistry, gave him a concerned look.

“Conner?” Tim asked when Conner missed the beaker for the lab entirely. But that was the only thing he said, and Conner simply handed him the correct beaker and turned away. He was convinced he hadn’t hallucinated the gunshot, and he refused to talk to Tim until he had his answers. That and, after weeks of silent glares, it felt good to be on the other side of things.

Tim huffed, seeming genuinely annoyed, and finished both his and Conner’s lab in record time.

As the bell rang freeing him from his metaphorical chain to Tim, he bolted out the door.

* * *

The call came exactly as the final bell rang. Conner offered his friends no explanation (his patience wearing short, he didn’t want to snap at them) and hurried off school grounds. Despite his recent misadventure, and the increasing cold, he intended to walk home.

“Conner,” Lex’s voice rolled like honey across Conners ears. Even over the phone he worked his charm like Conner didn’t already _know_ the kind of man he really was. “Mr. Kent called. I heard about your rather eventful week. I don’t suppose your exposure to Gotham’s staggering crime rate and Clark’s ineptitude have changed your mind about my offer to come live in Metropolis?”

Conner seethed despite himself as he retraced his steps from just a day before, and turned down some residential streets. His mind flashed to Clark handing him a dumb, bulky thermos with a nervous smile. He thought of Clark bothering to waste his time to make soup in the first place.

“Clark isn’t inept,” he said, “And no.”

Luthor chuckled. “Conner, my dear boy, you more than anyone should know I hold Mr. Kent in the highest regard. But that doesn’t make him a good parental figure for you. He’s in his thirties and living in an place so dangerous you were mugged. If you were with me you’d have your pick of armed security to accompany you everywhere.”

The very thought made Conner’s skin crawl. “Lex, I’m fine. Clark’s fine. We aren’t having this conversation.”

Conner finally found what he thought was the right place and turned down the alleyway.

“I’m only trying to do what’s best for you. I want you home.”

The alley was made up of two, large, windowless warehouse walls, a dumpster, several piles of trash, and graffiti.

“Yeah well,” Conner bent down, trying to see if he could spot the gun or the bullet anywhere along the pavement. “That’s nice, but not happening.”

If Conner had been smarter, he would conducted this search sooner, but spite more than common sense fueled him. Currently the distracting search was the only thing keeping him from snapping at Lex. He scoured the dark alleyway while Lex heaved the great sigh of a man who felt like he must be the only rational head in the room. 

“Conner, you have to understand, this is out of my hands. Danger like this isn’t healthy for children. Even if you want to stay, I can’t reasonably allow this to continue.”

Conner paused in his search. “You don’t get to _allow_ anything. You gave up that right when you tossed me -”

“Conner! Conner please. Let me finish.”

He glared at the wall in front of him and tried to focus. If he could say anything positive about Gotham’s back alleys, at least they offered great privacy. Perfect for stabbing high schoolers. Or yelling at billionaires.

“As I was saying,” Lex continued, “If something like this happens again, it won’t be me you have to worry about.”

Conner did not like the sound of that underlying threat. “Lex…”

“I’m afraid that if I feel your safety is in danger I am obliged to call the cops.”

Conner’s fist clenched. “Don’t you dare.”

“Honestly I’m not sure why I’m not calling them right now-”

“Lex, please, listen,” Conner could feel himself panicking. This hadn’t been the conversation he planned in his head, “Listen I’m fine.”

“I wish I could believe that, but honestly I haven’t seen you in years I don’t know what to believe-”

“What do you _want_ Lex.”

Lex paused. “Come visit me. I have a free weekend in a few weeks. Maybe you’ll come to your senses once you see Metropolis.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

“ _If I don’t?”_

Lex sighed again. “I won’t call the cops, Conner. I just want what’s best for you.”

Conner hung up. He wanted to scream. Instead he stared at the graffiti on the walls. This always happened with Lex. No matter what Conner thought would happen, Lex always sounded reasonable to the point of cruelty. Only Lex Luthor could make calling the cops on Clark, the man who could barely afford the shoes he wore, who painted Conner’s room red on request, who made Conner soup and asked him awkward parent questions, sound like a reasonable course of action.

The graffiti on the walls of the alley depicted series of clowns, painted over by countless vandals. Conner recognized a skullface, an anarchy symbol, along with many less than complimentary opinions about cops. Someone had sprayed over one of the faces of the clowns in bright, angry red.

He grew increasingly frustrated, however. Despite physically scouring the alley and checking the drain at the end of the alley, no sign of a bullet popped up. Which meant either Tim had it or the cops did.

Or maybe he really did hallucinate it.

* * *

Luckily, Gotham’s crime rate made school drama a given, and soon both Clark and the student body seemed perfectly content to return to normal and stop bothering him about the crash in the parking lot. It helped that Conner didn’t tell anyone about his little mugger incident. And if Tim was giving him weird looks from across the cafeteria, he ignored it.

He learned from Stephanie, after some roundabout questions about some of the tags in the alley, that the area he had wandered into was probably pretty close to where a local gang did a lot of drug peddling. Which seemed as good an explanation as any, as Conner had never met any drug dealers outside of his own small town idiot high school friends.

There was one, small, bump in the road, however.

“Conner, hey, you have a moment?”

Conner looked up, surprised. He sat in Chemistry studying the periodic table while he waited for the bell. He still thought, even as he cross checked his homework, he had done it wrong. The girl who spoke was the tall, gorgeous blonde Cassie and he shared English class with. Cissie King-Jones.

“Oh, hey,” Conner said, still surprised.

She flipped her hair, a little unnecessarily, but Conner could appreciate dramatics. And she seemed like the dramatic type. A white miniskirt, too short for dress code, and flowery tank top matched her beaded headband and perfectly polished nails. If Conner had to guess, he wouldn’t have said she came from money so much as she wished she had.

Tim watched them both with a burning intensity that Conner could feel through the back of his jacket. It made him simultaneously self conscious, and eager to milk the moment for all it was worth.

“Did you hear that homecoming is going to be a Sadie Hawkins thing?” She asked.

Conner hadn’t. “Wait, we have homecoming? When?”

He could swear Tim snickered, but Cissie just shrugged. “In a few weeks. I’m surprised someone like you doesn’t know.”

“Like me?”

“Well don’t you play football?”

Conner didn’t know what to do with that question so he stared. “No?”

Tim definitely snickered. Asshole probably was delighted at Conner putting his foot in his mouth in front of a pretty girl.

“Really?” She seemed genuinely surprised, but shook it off easily. “No matter, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to the dance. I’m running for homecoming queen obviously so you have to run with me, but I think it will be fun.”

Tim did a poor job of hiding his amusement, and Conner wondered if he was trying at all. And to make matters worse, he had to come up with an excuse because, if he did his math right, that weekend would be his weekend with Lex. Normally Conner would have killed to hang out with someone as hot as Cissie. And to run for Homecoming King. It would have been so normal and Clark would have had a field day.

“Cissie, I would love to,” she looked elated, “But I can’t. I have a...thing I have to go to. In Metropolis. I’ll be gone for that weekend.”

Cissie turned bright red, stuttered some apology, and then bolted back to her seat and lab partner. Conner sighed.

“You don’t play football?”

Conner turned to see amusement shining in Tim’s eyes.

“And you don’t play polo. Who’s stereotyping now?” Conner sneered, “And you have some nerve talking to me.”

“Are you still mad about that mugger thing?” Tim seemed way more lighthearted than usual, and it put Conner ill at ease.

“No matter what you say, I know I’m not crazy, _ok?_ So leave me alone. You may have all these other people fooled, but I’ll figure out your secret eventually.” Conner refused to back down, and he held Tim’s gaze as the other boy’s amusement quickly faded.

Tim looked paler, if it was at all possible, and for the first time Conner noticed bags under his eyes. They stood out starkly on his pale skin.

“You really shouldn’t mess around with stuff you don’t understand,” said Tim and he turned to his notebook right as Ms. Isley called on him.

And that wasn’t the end of Conner’s torment.

After class, as he was trying to sneak by Cissie without damaging her ego further, he found himself stuck behind Tim and Steph on their way to AP Art. They were all squeezed into a narrow hallway that separated the recreational buildings from the main campus, and Conner could tell Steph and Tim were talking to each other. He tried to eavesdrop, but could hear absolutely nothing. Traitor.

His impatience worsened when Cassie sidled up to him. “Hey Conner.”

“Hey Cassie.” Conner said, not liking the look in her innocent, big blue eyes as she smiled shyly. In front of him, Tim and Stephanie slowed down, if anything. “I was thinking, about the car thing,”

“It’s  _fine_ ,” he said.

Cassie ignored his obvious discomfort and barrelled ahead into what Conner had known was coming, and Conner had to give her props for persistence. “What if I made it up to you by taking you to the homecoming?”

Conner sighed. “I can’t, I’m going to Metropolis that weekend.”

“Oh,” Conner felt incredibly bad for turning her down. And frankly if she had asked before Lex he might have gladly said yes for the chance at a low pressure evening with friends. Instead he tried to salvage the situation, “You know, it was actually Jaime’s car that took the brunt of the damage. You could always offer to go with him.”

Cassie looked skeptical at that idea but nodded. “Uh huh, well. You’re sure you can’t get out of the Metropolis thing?”

“I’m sure Cassie.”

Cassie disappeared down the hallway, pushing past Tim and Steph, and Conner watched her go only to catch Tim peering at him curiously.

“What?”

“Nothing,” but he looked a little too happy. Stephanie shot Conner a look full of I-know-something-you-don’t, and sped up after Cassie. She had better have been playing double agent or Conner would never forgive this betrayal.

Tim didn’t notice because he didn’t take his eyes off Conner. “Are you really going to Metropolis that weekend?”

“What’s it to you?” Conner asked.

Tim shrugged. “Seems weird.”

“You’re weird.”

Tim sighed. And Conner could admit to himself that he was acting childish. But not aloud. Never to Tim.

“So it’s not just an excuse to get out of going?” Tim asked.

“Timothy Drake Wayne, Cissie King-Jones, hottest girl in class, asked me to run as her Homecoming King. If I could bail on Metropolis I would in a heartbeat. I’m stupid not insane.”

“I see.” Tim spared him one more judgemental glance, and then stepped aside. “Have fun in gym.”

Conner hadn’t even realized he’d arrived. The other kids were staring. Which was nothing new, kid’s tended to stare at the Waynes, but feeling the scrutiny first hand, Conner puffed up.

“What are you looking at?” he asked a wimpy looking kid. The kid jumped, and everyone started minding their own business. “Unbelievable.”

He turned to say something, maybe goodbye, to Tim, but he was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is about to become an experiment in how many pages per character do I need to make sure they all get their character development.


	5. Blood Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Conner's plans have been derailed by Lex, that doesn't stop anyone else from celebrating. The tension ramps up for the dance and the Waynes keep getting weirder.

Tim went back to ignoring Conner after their little hallway talk. And Conner went back to ignoring Tim. He had no time or patience for people who didn’t shoot straight. Conner approached his usual lunch table the next day, tray stacked high full of tater tots. Per custom, Bart sat next to Jaime, fluorescents bouncing off of wild auburn hair. Jaime had school work scattered across their half the table. Greta and Cassie occupied the other half. Greta took up as little space as possible and Cassie sat with a home made lunch in front of her. All of them ignored Conner as he walked up.

Not used to not being the center of attention, he noticed they all appeared to be staring across the cafeteria.

He turned. Over at the Waynes’ table, in faded blue jeans and a fraying purple sweater, was Stephanie Brown. She stood, playing with her hair. In front of her sat Tim and the impossibly graceful girl that Conner now knew was named Cassandra. Cassandra Wayne sat staring up at Stephanie with rapt attention. The intensity of her gaze did not match the nervousness in Stephanie’s stance. Beside Cassandra Tim sat quietly, apparently following the girls' conversation. Conner made a move to go over-

“Don’t you dare,” Greta hissed, spotting him and pointing at an empty seat at their table.

“But-”

“Shh,” Jaime said.

“I can read lips,” Bart offered. The table turned to regard Bart with great skepticism. Bart rolled his eyes and leaned forward, squinting in the direction of Stephanie, Cassandra, and Tim.

Tim spoke now, too quiet for any of them to hear over the cafeteria din.

“He’s saying...uh...something something...I like you...something about-no way!”

“What?” Cassie snapped around to look at Bart, eager for any kind of answer.

“I think he’s asking her to homecoming.”

Jaime groaned. “Bart that’s...thanks for trying but I don’t think Stephanie’s ex-boyfriend is asking her to homecoming.”

Bart grumbled something about unreliable friends and slumped in his seat. And Conner watched Tim say something, smirk, and then look directly across the room at him. Blushing at having been caught staring, he quickly sat in the seat beside Greta. The group sat in awkward silence until Stephanie walked up to the table. She looked pink, but not upset.

“So who wants to come dress shopping for homecoming with me?”

The table exploded.

“You have date?” Greta grabbed Stephanie and forced her into a chair. Conner had never seen her so exuberant. “Who? When? Just now?”

Stephanie sat down, still blushing. “Don’t look,” she said, in a futile attempt to stop Bart’s overt staring. “It’s not...it’s Cass.”

Conner peered over at the other table once more. Tim still watched them with obvious distaste, but the girl Cassandra stared only at her food, smile on her lips. The rest of the family seemed oddly chipper, but no one was speaking.

“So you asked Cass to homecoming?” Greta asked, intent on dragging the gossip out.

“Oh God no, have you seen her she’s so-,” Stephanie stopped herself and turned a brighter shade of red. The table laughed, but for once Stephanie had no comeback. She simply stared down at her hands, smiling, but looking frazzled. Lovestruck, if Conner had to guess.

Despite himself he felt a twinge of jealousy. It might have been about the dance, the dance he would miss, the dance that all his new friends would have stories about. It also might have been the slight panicky feeling sometimes crept up on him despite himself. A feeling that whispered insidiously about how abnormal he was. When someone finally bothered to ask him about his dating history, what was he going to tell them? That he only dated women twice his age with criminal histories?

Conner had felt lovestruck only twice. Once with Tana, who left him, rightfully so, when he acted like a spoiled brat. And once with Kay, who left him hurt and broken to take the fall for her crimes. It was probably for the best he didn’t like any of the girls who had asked him to homecoming. If his history was anything to go by, his taste in women was poor, and frankly part of him wondered if lovestruck was something reserved for the less experienced. People who hadn’t been burned. Tana had always said she wanted something more mature, more responsible in her relationships. Maybe growing up meant Conner was past the blushing, butterflies, phase.

Stephanie, giggling in a very out of character fashion as she relayed some of her conversation with Cass to the table, snapped Conner out of his self-pitying spiral. He looked at Cassie to see the tomboyish girl leaning into the conversation with a huge grin.

Cassie didn’t strike him as particularly dangerous, old, or likely to engage in violent crime. She seemed sensible. Reasonable. Nice to a fault. She caught him looking at her, and she smiled.

Conner made the decision in that moment that if visiting Lex didn’t result in an implosion of chaos, he would ask Cassie Sandsmark to prom.

* * *

Dress shopping got pushed back when it became apparent that Cassie and Greta were not going to let her go by herself. Conner had absolutely no interest in shopping, but when he brought up the entire thing with Clark during one of their dinner bonding talks, Clark looked delighted.

“I have a car, I could drive you kids out to the Burnley, over by GU. There’s a bunch of shops there. I can give you cash for lunch.”

Conner tried not to look as appalled as he felt. “Clark, it’s like, a  _girl’s day_ thing. I’m not going dress shopping.”

“Then tell Jaime and Bart to come. There’s an old school arcade on the campus you could check out.”

“No one goes to arcades anymore Clark, god, you’re so lame.”

Conner, however, made the mistake of mentioning Clark’s lame suggestion to Bart in passing the next day, and just like that Conner had weekend plans for Saturday.

* * *

Tuesday came with a rushed bell schedule and announcements of a super special school assembly. Conner had never been to a school assembly before. Apparently they were a staple of Gotham Unified Public School District upbringing.

“There’s the drunk driving assembly, the drugs assembly, the violent crime assembly-” Stephanie listed off for him when he asked during English.

“Wildlife preservation assembly, that one time that lady came in and told us all she would send us to Black Rock Juvenile Detention Center if we skipped assembly,” Cassie continued, “Sometimes they actually do ok stuff, like bringing in minor celebrities to talk about dumb shit.”

“Last year it was Bruce Wayne,” Stephanie added, “They’re probably just calling assembly to remind us not to do anything wild during homecoming week.”

The rest of the morning passed with a tangible buzz in the air. Classes got cut ten minutes short each to account for the assembly schedule. Teacher’s barely tried to teach. Conner tried to pay attention if only to salvage his falling grades, but wound up bored more than anything.

At last the bell rang and students were released to the assembly. Conner trailed after Stephanie and Cassie who planned to sit together.

“We can probably ditch, after,” Steph added, as they weaved through teenagers in hoodies and bags twice their size.

The auditorium was big enough to fit the entire student body. Conner squeezed into a row with a wild group of freshman. Cassie on his left, Stephanie on his right, they sat on the left hand side of the auditorium. Looking around, Conner felt again that rush of relief over the fact that here, in Gotham, he wasn’t anything other than one face in a sea of thousands. A few rows down he caught sight of the dark haired Waynes taking their seats behind a bunch of kids all still dressed in their gym clothes. They were missing two of their number, Jason and Cassandra, though it was hard to tell from the backs of their heads.

On stage, the principle, a mousy haired man in big gold glasses, struggled to quiet the masses.

“Student, students,” a wheezy voice screeched through the speaker system. Conner winced. “I’d like to welcome you all to our first assembly of the year.” He paused for half hearted clapping, “As usual I’d like to remind students that here at Edward Elliot we have a zero tolerance policy for drugs, alcohol, or criminal behavior.”

The principle droned on, explaining that Edward Elliot did not condone drinking or drug use, but that there was a rehabilitation center down the street. That students who needed it could apply to the daycare center run out of the main administrative building. He also reminded everyone to stay safe, and not walk home alone at night. Typical school stuff. At last he stepped aside with a sweeping gesture and a man in a lab coat walked onto the stage to stand beside him.

“Finally students, in preparation for our upcoming homecoming week, we’ve invited Dr. Langstrom from Gotham Mercy General Hospital to talk to you about this year’s blood drive.”

Dr. Langstrom was a narrow, willowy man, with a nervous air. He flitted about the stage as he talked, holding the microphone too close to his face. “H-Hello students! My name is Dr. Robert Krikland Langstrom and today I wanted to ask you all to save a life.”

“Every donation can save up to three lives. You must be seventeen to donate, weigh over 110 pounds, and have not donated in the last two months. Everyone who donates gets a sticker and a cookie.”

“I cannot overemphasize how important this is. People often donate only during a crisis, but unfortunately 2000 units of blood are needed everyday in the Gotham area to keep giving people the second chance they deserve. Please consider donating today. Thank you.”

He handed the mic back to the principle.

“All right students, you heard the man, let’s show Gotham General Mercy Hospital how much school spirit we have!”

His announcement met with mild applause, and the assembly carried on for another twenty minutes of safety reminders regarding costumes and pranks during homecoming week, which Stephanie openly mocked and Conner ignored. Dr. Langstrom never left the stage, seemingly uncertain about how or where he should go, and eventually the the Assembly dissolved into a Q&A about the blood drive, which quickly dissolved into smart alec students asking the doctor about the most gruesome things he’d seen at the hospital.

“You still down for skipping?” Conner asked Stephanie as the bell sounded. The principle tried to talk over the thunderous sound of every student moving at once, but eventually gave up.

“Hell yes.” Stephanie said.

* * *

Getting out of the school had been simple. Stephanie knew a back door by the lab rooms and after that it was simply a matter of walking like they weren’t doing anything wrong. A skill Conner had mastered. Stephanie, for her part, seemed to know exactly where they were going to the point that Conner suspected she did this a lot. They crept off campus, onto a side street, and then took a couple back alleys to get away from the school.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” Cassie said, only once, before they emerged onto the main road.

This strip of street was littered with restaurants and convenience stores, as well as the rehab center and a church. It was a fairly busy area, though fairly low in foot traffic throughout the day. As always, Gotham was shrouded in the kind of off key grey that seemed to come with living in the most gloomy city in the world, and it made even the normal street seem slightly unsettling.

Conner, Stephanie, and Cassie gladly made a trip the ice cream shop that sat between a the Barnes & Noble and an Italian buffet. Conner paid for Stephanie and Cassie’s ice cream, which earned an eye roll, and a “What are you after Kent?” and the three wandered into the Barnes & Noble.

Stephanie immediately dragged Cassie into the paranormal romance section of the teen books and Conner wandered off to hobbies and games. Back in Hawaii, Mack Harlin and the rest of the administration were constantly on Conner’s case for skipping. Of course, back in Hawaii he had thought he had better things to do than be in school. Still, he half expected that a truant officer would show up any second to scold him, and the apparent freedom with which he could slip out of school was a welcome surprise.

He was so lost in thoughts about what he would do with this new knowledge he didn’t notice until he was stumbling into his leather clad frame that Jason Todd Wayne was glaring at him.

“Watch where you’re going punk.”

Conner spluttered. “What are you doing here?”

Up close Jason Todd was every bit as pretty as Tim, but in a very different way. He was older, with sharp blue eyes, but where Tim was pale as a ghost, Jason looked like he’d seen some sun. Warm tan skin peaked out from beneath his coat collar. His hair sat in a disheveled mess, like he perpetually ran his hands through it. And he looked at Conner with a gaze that said he thought Conner was the scum of the earth, leaving no doubt in Conner’s mind about his relation to Tim.

“Skipping, obviously.”

“At a bookstore?” Conner felt at the end of his rope with these Waynes, and despite the fact Jason had never actually done anything other than save his life, he snapped at him.

“I can be cultured when I want to,” Jason said. Conner wanted to point out that they were both standing next to a case full of Naruto action figures, which was hardly culture. But Jason looked thunderously angry, and Conner realized a bit belatedly that Jason had taken the question for more of an insult than it was. A twinge of sympathy, and suddenly Conner felt somewhat endeared to the other, obviously short tempered boy. It helped Jason’s case that he reacted so viscerally. Conner would never get such surly retorts from Tim. Gleefully, Conner stood his ground.

“Apologies, I didn’t realize you were a man of taste.” Conner said, giving a short gesture to the glass encased Hokage.

Jason scowled. “Idiot.” He turned to look at the Funko Pops on display next to the glass case.

Truly, the two of them made quite a pair. In their leather jackets, Jason with his designer gloves and combat boots, Conner with his shitty earrings and falling apart converse. Conner grinned despite himself.

He tried a new tactic. “You look good in that jacket.”

The way Jason startled under that praise made Conner wonder if people said nice things to him very often. And actually, now that Conner looked at him, _really_ looked at him, up close Jason’s jacket didn’t look so designer.

“Jealous?” Jason asked with a grin, clearly meant to be a challenge.

“Nah,” Conner said, feeling more at ease by the minute. He patted down the front of his own leather. “I got this from an ex-girlfriend. Wouldn’t trade it for the world. Memories and all.”

“Sentimental,” Jason said, like an insult. He paused though to really look at Conner’s jacket. Seemingly having found his answer, he returned to the toys, but this time when he turned to look at the shelf he gestured for Conner to keep up.

Conner gladly followed him along the shelves. “I never did get a chance to say thank you. For saving me from the van.”

Jason rolled his eyes with a a level of teenage obstinance that far exceeded Conner’s capabilities. “You were the idiot standing in front of a van.”

“I really don’t get how this is my fault.”

“It was completely careless,” Jason said, but his tone was completely free of any real venom.

“Well thank god you were there to save my idiot self then.”

Jason nodded, satisfied with this response, and they moved down the aisle towards the cheaper action figures, the ones not encased and under lock and key.

“So what does a-” Conner said.

“Hold that thought,” Jason said, holding up a single, fingerless glove clad digit.

And, in the course of a split second, Conner learned for the second time since coming to Gotham that the Waynes were more trouble than they were worth. In a movement so skilled and quick Conner only saw it because he was standing right next to him, Jason tucked a Spider-man trading card set, and a Funko Pop into his jeans.

“ _What are you doing?”_ Conner hissed, because despite his obvious bad boy good looks, Conner wasn’t a _bad_ guy. He was a misunderstood guy with a good heart at worst.

Jason glared. “Are we cool, Kent?”

Conner shifted, and looked around. No one in the store appeared to notice them. Conner could hear Clark’s disappointment. Probably saying something about how Ma had raised him better than this. Ma hadn’t raised Conner though, which he was sure would be a great excuse if Clark ever found out about this. Or Lex.

Jason looked cool as a cucumber, leaning against the shelf, and regarding Conner with an indecipherable look caught somewhere between a challenge and a glare.

Already regretting it, but realizing the only other option was to walk away (and when had Conner ever walked away from _anything?)_ he nodded stiffly.

“We’re cool.”

Jason grinned.

Though every minute they spent wandering the toys sent Conner further into a spiral of panic. If they got caught and Conner was somehow held responsible, it could mean very bad things for his already bad criminal record. And if Clark found out, Lex would too, and then Conner would live on house arrest in Metropolis.

Oblivious to the way Conner’s life flashed before his eyes with every passing moment, Jason gleefully started lifting with abandon, shooting Conner knowing grins that the other boy ignored. Jason navigated the store with the practiced casualness of a long time shoplifter. Conner followed him like he was being dragged, and it was only sheer force of will and a miracle that saw them both out of the store safely because Conner felt certain any outsider could have seen how uncomfortable Conner felt.

Out on the street, Jason laughed. He didn’t _look_ like he was carrying a bunch of crap. In fact, Conner bitterly felt he looked as if he had everything he could ever want in the world. Jason walked with a tangible skip in his step, leading them down the street, and snickering every time he looked over at Conner.

“You should have seen the look on your face,” he informed Conner.

“You’re a criminal,” Conner retorted.

Jason laughed. “A criminal with culture.” He tossed a package at Conner and out of reflex Conner caught it. A Funko Pop of Naruto stared up at him. Conner hastily shoved it into his jacket pocket and glared.

“I hate you,” he said, under his breath.

Jason beamed.

Eventually Jason led him to an alley. He rattled the ancient fire escape on the left side building, and it came crashing down with ease. He tossed Conner another look of challenge, and clambered up. Figuring he was already in too deep, Conner followed.

When they had climbed to the top, Jason made Conner give him a boost up over the ledge of the roof. Jason in turn helped him over. And despite the fact Conner still thought Jason was more trouble than he was worth, he could appreciate the boy’s choice of locale. One look around and he could see Jason came here often. There was a duffle with a blanket in one corner, which Jason quickly unpacked, as well as empty beer cans and what looked like chalk drawings. The building they stood on was probably an apartment complex of some kind, and it was just high enough that Conner could see the sparkling GU campus and Gotham Clocktower on the horizon. He could even make out one of the many rivers that intersected the city, though he couldn’t name it.

Jason took a seat and started emptying his pockets. He managed to store things in every crevice of clothing. Jean waistband, under his shirt, in the cuffs of his gloves. In total Jason had walked out with four fidget toys, a Spider-man action figure, several booster packs for a card game Conner didn’t recognize, dice, two more action figures, a notebook, and a t-shirt.

“Dude,” Conner said, looking at the pile of loot and feeling his faith in humanity drain. “What the hell?”

Jason just laughed and pulled a pack of  cigarettes from his pocket. “You smoke?”

“Only on special occasions,” Conner answered truthfully.

“Consider it an occasion then.” Jason handed him a cigarette and a lighter. Conner let him light it, but hardly bothered to smoke it, too preoccupied with the fact Bruce Wayne’s fucking billionaire child was an apparent klepto. He wasn’t exactly surprised, but still.

“Take whatever you want,” Jason waved at the pile.

Conner picked up a fidget spinner. Without much grace, he freed it from the plastic, held it up, and balanced it between his finger so he could spin it in front of Jason’s face.

“Really?” he asked Jason, referring to both his choice in stolen goods and behavior.

Jason scowled, and tried to snatch the spinner away from him. “Oh please, get off your high and mighty horse, Kent.”

Conner snatched the toy away from him just in time. “Uh, I’m not the one stealing dollar fidget spinners, Wayne.”

“Todd,” Jason said.

“What?”

“My real name’s Todd. I didn’t fucking change it. Everyone’s a fucking loser.” He took a long drag of his cigarette and glared into the late afternoon smog.

Conner could, at least in part, commiserate with the misery of names and what they meant, so he took a puff of his own cigarette.

“For the record I don’t condone this,” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

Jason seemed to find this very amusing. “Didn’t hear you kicking up a fuss in the store.”

“I was in shock,” Conner said dryly. “I was arrested once. Charges didn’t stick, but uh, crime doesn’t pay. Personal experience.”

Conner felt as lame as Clark as soon as the words left his mouth. Now Jason looked at him like  _he_ was the loony one.

“Excuse me?” But he sounded delighted by this news.

“I-it’s complicated. But I’m just saying. You probably shouldn’t. Uh. Cops aren’t super nice.”

Jason snorted. “Thanks, but too late for that. Bruce knows anyways. He’s the one who always sends the checks to the stores afterwards to pay for what I did plus damages. He always knows. I bet he’s writing a check to Barnes & Noble right now.”

Conner would have doubted this if it weren’t for the bitterness lacing every word. He tried not to seem too relieved at this news.

“Trust me when I say he never lets me fuck up.”

“Is everyone in your family this weird?” Conner asked.

“Spent some quality time with them, have you?” Jason asked. The bitterness didn’t let up.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in a tense silence atop the roof with their stolen goods. Jason seemed content not to elaborate any further, and they found comfortable spots leaning against the ledge and looking out over the city of Gotham. Conner felt equally driven to leave and to stay and ask if Jason would reveal more Wayne family secrets. These drives cancelled each other out, leaving him silent and sullen on the rooftop until he got summoned back to the store by a text from Stephanie, and by then Jason had already finished half his pack.

“I’ll, uh, see you at school,” Conner said as he stood to leave, but Jason ignored him.

* * *

Stephanie bought a vampire romance novel, which Conner teased her for endlessly, having not yet learned not to tempt fate. He told her nothing of where he had been and though she looked curious, she didn’t ask. And despite Jason’s act of rebellion, nothing bad, certainly no cops, came for Conner. He went home without even a call from the school to rat him out to Clark.

The week’s classes went by without much except poor grades to punctuate the bell schedule.

There was one notable change, and that was the fact that Jason Todd seemed to appear out of thin air, with some regularity, in Conner’s peripherals. None of his friends noticed. They did notice, however, that Jason Todd frequently and openly smiled at him when they passed by at lunch. Conner recognized this as the smile of a man who wanted to egg him on, but his friends' snickering told him he was alone in recognizing Todd for the instigating little shit he was.

“New friend?” Stephanie asked, feigning disinterest.

“Not in the least,” Conner said, ignoring her meaningful look.

Tim continued to loathe him. If anything his behavior seemed more agitated, and the one lab they had together over the week consisted mostly of clipped tones and Tim muttering under his breath about delinquency, dashing Conner’s hopes of Jason not saying anything about their afternoon off.

Everyone in his friend group was still wound up with the news of Stephanie going to homecoming. And even Conner, who did not want to go shopping in the least, was beginning to look forward to the upcoming Saturday.

In Chemistry Ms. Isley informed them that she would be taking the time out of class Friday to bring everyone down to the blood donation drive, to the thrill of many a struggling student. Though, when the day came Conner noted Tim was absent.

But he didn’t spare that, nor the absence of the Waynes from lunch, much of a thought. Perhaps he had grown too used to their peculiarity.

And before anyone knew it, Friday slipped away into Saturday.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention, uh, slow burn
> 
> because the rate of progression here is surprising even me.


	6. Scary Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecoming brings out the worst in everybody. We meet some friends from a rival school.
> 
> Conner gets another piece of the puzzle.

Saturday morning saw Conner and Clark both in a good mood. Clark dressed in a blue checkered button up and cardigan, with big clunky glasses. He had wisely gotten up well before Conner and by the time the teenager drifted down the hall to their tiny kitchen, bacon was already cooking. Clark handed him a hot, already sugar filled, cup of coffee with a smile.

“I thought I’d let you sleep in. When are your friends expecting to be picked up?”

Conner had never, in his life, been so happy to live with another human being.

They didn’t talk much, but the morning was pleasant. Clark kept the news on in the living room, channel tuned to the Daily Planet. Back before Lex had driven Clark from Metropolis, Clark had worked there, and Conner felt grim with a moment of clarity regarding Clark and Lex. Sometimes Lex, Conner silently turned the thought over, ruined more than just the things _Conner_ cared about.

“Where do you work?” Conner asked from the kitchen table, pretending to ignore the TV.

“Gotham Gazette. And some freelance stuff,” Clark said with an easy smile as he flipped bacon.

Conner couldn’t reconcile the man before him, the man who so easily let Conner into his life, with the man who had given him up at 16. Nor could he so easily recall up the anger that he used to feel pounding in his ears when he was twelve and forced to stay with Clark for a few measly weeks of the summer. Had he been blind or stupid?

Not letting himself fall too far into that memory, Conner and Clark finished up breakfast, and went to pick up his friends.

* * *

They barely fit in Clark’s Car. Stephanie, Greta, Cassie, and Jaime squeezed into the back of the sedan, and Conner sat shotgun, with Bart balancing in the small space between him and Clark. It seemed highly illegal, but Clark drove like a grandma to compensate.

Stephanie had made them pick her up at a 7-11. Greta lived in East End, and Cassie lived in the Narrows. Jaime, without a car, was happy to be picked up from his dad’s garage, also in Midtown. And Bart had stayed the night with Jaime so they didn’t have to waste too much extra gas.

Clark dropped them all off in the Burnley District, parking in one of the huge structures open to the public by Gotham University.

“All right folks,” Clark said as they piled out of the car. He pulled out an honest to God paper map and Conner groaned. “We’re here, by parking structure F. There’s the Burnley Mall. If you walk east on University Street you’ll be sure to hit it. And then 22nd and 23rd both are just a little north and here and are lined with more stores. Now if you want food, you’ll want to head west here.”

Clark had the map pressed flat on the hood of his dark blue car and earnestly showed Stephanie and the rest how to get from where they were to the nearest McDonalds.

“Clark, we have phones,” Conner said, pointedly holding his up.

“Oh, right!” Clark said, and reached into his pocket to pull out a small flip phone. He opened it, pulled out its antennae, and handed it to Stephanie. “Why don’t you give me your number in case you need to get picked up. I assume the boys might split for the arcade.”

Conner wanted to die.

When Clark finally let up, he informed them he would be heading to the University library to get some research done for an article, and to ring him if they needed absolutely anything at all. As he walked off leaving the gangly group of teenagers to their own devices, Stephanie immediately pulled out Google Maps and plugged in the mall address.

“Your dad is really cool Conner,” she said with a bit too much sincerity for Conner’s heart to handle.

“Yeah, well, try living with him. We have a VCR.”

* * *

The mall was delightfully just like every mall Conner had ever seen. A monument to American decadence, the pinnacle of all the things Conner loved most. Pizza, senseless fashion, and blinding lights and music so that you can’t think about the money being spent. Conner felt right at home immediately.

Back when he’d lived with Lex, Conner had been denied the basic human right of going to the mall. Lex had insisted on designer boutiques, often in Europe, and tailor made clothes. Conner hadn’t owned a shirt that wasn’t hand sewn for him by some French artisan until he was thirteen. The mass produced, cheap, utter garbage that hung on the hangers at a mall department store simply filled Conner with a type of unwarranted nostalgia. Cheap? Yes. But it was wholly Conner’s choice to dress like trash.

Stephanie, Cassie, and Greta lead the charge to the nearest store. And despite Clark’s predictions to the contrary, Jaime and Bart were quite eager to accompany them.

“I need a suit or something,” Bart said, looking mildly embarrassed to even admit it, “Max said he wouldn't let me wear my parachute pants to all the school dances this year. He wants photos to send to the family.”

Jaime snickered.

Conner did, actually, kind of like shopping, but he’d never had the patience for it. He didn’t put up a fight and let his friends lead him around the giant, dishevelled department store, admiring the shoddy clothing and poor stitchwork. They clearly weren’t the only students getting ready for homecoming. Dozens of young people milled about, with parents in tow. An entire back wall was dedicated to girl’s dresses.

Jaime and Bart started trying on blazers while they waited for the girls to come out of the dressing room. Jaime had agreed to take Cassie, though looking at Jaime and Bart now Conner wondered if she wouldn’t be playing severe third wheel. Greta had quietly admitted to them while shopping that she had asked someone and they had said yes. None of them pried. That was something Conner quickly learned he liked about the group.

Conner wound up sitting in the chairs positioned outside the dressing room hallway, holding clothes for his friends while they played dress up.

Greta was the first to emerge, in a champagne colored greek goddess gown that made her look less like a washed out, awkward middle schooler, and far more like a ghostly waif. For the first time Conner thought Greta would be remarkably gorgeous when she got older.

It also revealed a dark purple bruise along her arm. Again, no one pried.

Cassie took a little longer. She dawdled, trying on a truly gaudy number. Bright red, down to her calf, and covered in hawaiian flowers. Conner thought it looked suitably Cassie like, but Greta sent her back to the changing room to “Try on the one I picked out for your own good.”

Cassie reemerged in a shorter, much more form fitting, red lace dress, blushing bright as a tomato. In all honesty it did wonders for her. Cassie looked _stunning._ But it was a bit more risque than Conner though she would ever be comfortable with given her joggers and tennis shoe wardrobe.

“I _can_ dance in it…” she offered up uncertainly.

Conner jumped up offering his hand. “Give it a twirl.”

She did, and gasped. “It has a _twirly_ skirt.”

And that apparently sold her on it.

They waited around another twenty minutes for Stephanie to come out. And another ten. Then five.

“I’m getting hungry,” Bart warned, as they sat outside the dressing rooms.

“Let me check on her,” Cassie said.

She disappeared down the hall, and returned, shrugging. “I don’t know. She says she’s fine.”

Before the others could say a thing, Conner stood to go check on his friend. Stephanie’s dressing room was at the end of the hall. Behind a red slatted door he could hear the ruffling of fabric. Conner knocked.

“ _Go away, Cassie.”_

“It’s Conner.”

A pause. “And? Can’t you see I’m having a meltdown, Kent?”

“Can I come in and meltdown with you?”

Another pause. Then the shuffling of fabric, and the door swung open. Stephanie stood in the unflattering light of the changing room dressed in a pale pink spaghetti strap dress with a skirt that made her look like a princess.

“You look beautiful,” Conner said instinctively.

Stephanie yanked him into the changing room and closed the door.

“It’s no good,” she said, back to the door. She slid down to sit on the dressing room floor, and though she wasn’t crying, she looked deeply distressed. Conner felt slightly cramped, but he pushed his discomfort aside and took a seat on the small bench by the mirror.

“What’s wrong with it?” he asked.

Stephanie twisted the fabric of the skirt between her hands. “It’s so...cheap.”

Conner laughed, then caught himself at her glare. “Well, yeah, it’s made in a sweatshop probably.”

That was not the right thing to say. Stephanie’s face broke, “I _hate_ sweatshops.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Conner slid down to the floor to sit beside her. He wasn’t sure that the dress thing was what was actually bothering her. He’s known enough troubled people in his life to know having a crisis over a cheap dress was probably not likely, least of all for someone like Stephanie, but he did his best. “We’re broke high school students. No one is going to fault you a cheap dress for homecoming.”

“Not even Cassandra Wayne?” She said, looking dejected.

“Is that what you’re worried about?”

Stephanie avoided his eyes. Conner had never wanted for anything growing up. He’d never been without, and every time he had been, it had been of his own free will. He chose his struggles. He sometimes forgot that wasn’t true for everyone.

“If she cares that much about money, she’s not worth your time,” Conner said.

“Ha. Me. Not worth Cassandra Wayne? Do you hear yourself? If anything I’m the one who’s not stacking up I mean, who am I? I’m just some nobody. My dad’s a criminal, my mom’s disappeared, I’m a free-lunch program miscreant who doesn’t even know what they’re doing with their life.”

“Nobody knows what they’re doing with their life,” Conner tried.

“Not the point.” Stephanie sulked. “I know I’m being stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“Then what is it?”

Instead of answering, Conner checked the price tag on the dress. Forty dollars. “Are you really that worried about what she’ll think of you?”

“No...maybe.”

Conner looked up. Stephanie still wouldn’t look at him. Her blue eyes were watery. She seemed to be struggling with herself, mouth opening and closing.

“Conner,” she said at last, “if I told you something would you judge me?”

“Not in the least. Have you met me?” Conner asked.

Stephanie took a deep breath. “The reason I know Tim is because I had a baby.”

Of all the things Conner had been expecting, that had been very far down on the list. “Excuse me?” then, “Not Tim’s-”

“No! Not Tim’s. It was stupid. I had a boyfriend and we were stupid. I wound up dating Tim and he found out, and he helped me hide it and paid for all my medical stuff. Even after we “broke up.” I know we make fun of him a lot. And he is kind of an ass. But he swore to me he would keep it a secret and he did. Honestly I think dating me was more of a scandal for him than my pregnancy would have ever been for me.”

Conner reeled as he tried to fit this new information into his working concept of both Tim and Stephanie. The casualness with which Tim spoke to her, and the lack of apparent bitterness on both sides over the break up fit a little more easily.

“And you’re worried…” Conner said slowly, only just beginning to understand what was happening, “that Cassandra will find out?”

Stephanie winced. “Maybe? I don’t know? I just know I couldn’t be further from her league if I was making an effort. ”

“Maybe he told her already,”

“He wouldn’t do that to me.” Her conviction surprised him and he filed that away as well.

“Well,” Conner said, finally coming to a solid conclusion about the whole thing, “I think you’re just getting jittery because of nerves. You’re crazy if you think Cassandra will think anything about your past. That’s your business. And if she does, she can answer to me. Aside from that, I don’t know what league nonsense you’re talking about, as I recall, she asked _you_ not the other way around so how about we bail on this place and find you a dress.”

Stephanie looked hesitant. “This one’s fine. I just needed-”

“Nonsense.” Conner said, pulling her to her feet, then leaned in conspiratorially, “Stephanie Brown, do you trust me?”

“With my life.”

* * *

Stephanie played along beautifully to Conner’s plan. He hadn’t started the day _intending_ to ditch his friends, but right now Stephanie was priority one. So when he came out of the dressing room with Stephanie in tow, claiming she wasn’t feeling well and they were going to go find Clark, he fought off all offers of help and questions with steely resolve.

“No, you guys meet us at the food court in an hour if she’s feeling better. Go have fun.”

He ignored their strange looks and frowns.

Friends ditched, he led Stephanie out of the mall and down the street. He used google and a faded memory of Lex taking him shopping in Gotham once, years ago, to find the bougiest part of the shopping district. Having been trained by Lex in the art of spotting a good, expensive store, Conner led her into boutique that screamed elitism.

They were greeted at the front by a man in a suit who took one look at Conner’s worn out cout and Stephanie chewed up hoodie and arched an exquisite eyebrow. His name tag read “Albertson”.

Conner waved him off with his best, I’m-the-son-of-Lex-Luthor nonchalance,“My friend here is looking for something...unique.”

The man still didn’t seem wholly convinced but Conner’s demanding tone helped. “What did you have in mind?”

“Something classy, obviously but,” and here Conner held out his hand to Stephanie, “my friend likes to dance. Do you have any recommendations?”

She gave an obliging twirl and as the salesperson stalked away, Stephanie pulled Conner aside. “I don’t think I can afford this.”

“It’s on me.”

“I don’t think _you_ can afford this.”

“Stephanie, if I tell you something, will you judge me?”

Stephanie looked at him quizzically, but shook her head.

“I’m the son of Lex Luthor.”

“And I’m the daughter of Steve Jobs.”

Conner rolled his eyes and dragged her into the store. She didn’t ask anymore questions, however, so he considered it a win.

It was a super ritzy place, with designer gowns and men’s suits. But very small. The room was the size of Connor's apartment, and most of the stock was kept in storage out of sight. There were three, large, mirrored stations with raised platforms where buyers could be fitted, and Conner led Stephanie to one, before taking a seat in the surrounding armchairs.

The atmosphere was a world away from the brightly lit department store.

The salesman emerged carrying two or three dresses for Stephanie to try on. Stephanie spent a good minute just running her hands over the soft fabric before disappearing into the back to get changed.

The first dress had a deep red, glittering skirt and black top. Stephanie twirled, and then forced Conner to help her do a brief Cotton-Eye Joe routine to ensure it’s danceability.

The salesman seemed to be equal parts amused and irritated by them. Though Conner probably looked like every rebellious rich kid ever, he had to guess the clientele for the place was usually older.

Stephanie, for her part, was delighted by each dress she tried. As Stephanie twirled in a beautiful grey dress adorned with silver beading. Even the sales associate seemed pleased, “You look quite lovely,” he said, charmed by her giddiness despite himself.

And then Conner heard a knock. He turned. Standing outside the boutique window Jason Todd Wayne grinned at him. And, tailing him with a scowl, was Timothy Drake Wayne. They walked into the store, and the salesman teetered on over.

“Mr. Wayne! Mr. Todd.”

“Hey there Albertson,” Jason said, “And why if it isn’t Conner fucking Kent. What are you doing in this trash heap?”

Conner definitely was beginning to appreciate Jason, “Getting Stephanie fully outfitted for homecoming.”

“Well wouldn’t you know it,” Jason said, “We’re here to get Timmy dressed for homecoming too. It’ll be a party. Albertson, go! Steph you look great.”

Jason shooed him away and Albertson glared, but clearly knew when he was outclassed money wise. He vanished to go get some suits and the four stood around awkwardly. Tim stared at the ground, apparently determined not to greet any of them, and Jason kicked up his feet in a chair.

“I think I’d like to try on the last one,” Stephanie said softly, eyes shining with worry, but Conner waved her off with a reassuring smile.

Stephanie disappeared into the changing room. Albertson came back, handed Tim something very expensive looking, and Tim also disappeared. As soon as the other two were gone Jason leaned over. Conner got a whiff of cigarette smoke and cologne.

“Hey,” Jason said, “You want to piss off Tim?”

Conner very much considered pissing off Tim a valuable investment of both his time and energy. “More than anything.”

Jason grinned, and yanked Conner out of his chair. Conner found himself squeezed into the cubicle like space of changing room for the second time that day, this time with less pleasant company.

“What are you-”

“Shh,” Jason said, barely restraining a cackle, “Trade clothes with me.”

The idea was childish enough to warrant an eye roll, so obviously Conner felt it was a delightful idea. They elbowed each other in the tight space as they tried to quietly but quickly swap shirts and jeans. When they got down to the jackets, Jason insisted, “Those too.”

Conner loved his jacket. It had been a gift. It was precious to him. Jason Todd gave him the most shit eating grin he had seen in his life, and Conner was a sucker for trouble.

Jason’s clothes, minus the jacket, were very much designer. The shirt was a tight fit, stretching across Conner’s chest just enough to be uncomfortable, and the jeans weren’t keeping any secrets from the world either. Still, they were remarkably comfy.

By the time they succeeded and stumbled out giggling like mad men, both Stephanie and Tim were waiting. Stephanie in an elegant pink silk dress and Tim in a suit that looked like it walked out of a red carpet shoot. Stephanie sent Conner a look of intense curiosity, and Tim looked livid.

“Are you two quite done being idiots? It’s embarrassing.” He said, adjusting his cuffs and scowling.

“Aw don’t be like that Timbo,” Jason said, wrapping an arm around Conner’s shoulders with the grace  and predatory nature of a cat. Conner felt himself pressed closely against the other boy and could feel the barely restrained laughter rumbling through his body. “Conner and I just wanted to have a little fun.”

It was only now under the gaze of the others that Conner realized what Jason was trying to pull and turned beet red. Tim jumped down from his platform.

“Albertson,” he called across the store. “It fits beautifully. We won’t be needing anymore adjustments. Jason can we _go?”_

Tim sounded genuinely distressed and Conner almost felt bad if it weren’t for the discrete thumbs up Jason handed him as Tim stormed into the dressing room to change.

“And you look stunning, Stephanie. Honestly you should only wear tens of thousands of dollars of silk, in my opinion. Anything less is insulting.” Jason held out a hand to help her down, which she accepted gratefully.

“It’s not, really going to cost that much, is it?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Conner said.

Stephanie still looked concerned, but Jason turned to look at him with a calculating gaze that Conner felt was more appropriate for the likes of Tim. It vanished quickly, however.

Tim and Jason checked out while Stephanie changed into her street clothes. Tim refused to even look at them, and seemed in quite a hurry to leave. As they walked out the door, Jason called over his shoulder.

“You look good in that jacket.”

“Yeah, well I expect mine back on Monday.”

Jason just laughed.

* * *

Stephanie and Conner returned to their friends after paying for her new dress. Conner had only had to tell Albertson it was a gift, and the man had been happy to hide the price from Stephanie. Stephanie pouted, and Conner used the card Lex Luthor had given him ages ago. If the name on the card struck Albertson as odd, he didn’t say such, and instead wished them a warm goodbye.

Conner did not like using Lex’s money, but seeing as he had to miss homecoming for the asshole, he thought one dress was the least the man could do.

Stephanie shook her head as they left the store. “You _must_ be the son of Lex Luthor.”

“I told you.”

“You’re gonna give me the full story then?”

"Later," he said.

As they came up on the Food Court in the Burnley Mall, they saw their friends waving. And they had company. A girl with long, silver hair, and a more tomboy-ish girl, sat at the table with Cassie, Greta, Bart, and Jaime.

“Guys, guys, this is Maps! She goes to Gotham Academy!” Bart said, waving to the younger of the two girls as Conner and Stephanie approached.

Maps dressed like a tomboy, with a visor hat and short choppy hair. She also blushed and looked immediately abashed at being called out so openly.

“And this is her friend Olive.”

Olive was gorgeous, with silver white hair and Amber eyes. Wayne level gorgeous. She seemed sullen, however, and let Maps do all the introductions.

“Gotham Academy, huh?” Stephanie said. “I think we’re playing you guys for the homecoming game.”

“Heh, yeah,” Maps said.

“Maps was just inviting us to their D&D group,” Bart said earnestly, “I said you guys would be down.”

“Totally,” Stephanie said.

Apparently, Jaime told them, Maps and Olive had been at the mall preparing for their homecoming dance, and Bart and Maps had eagerly jumped into an extended conversation after discovering both with monumental nerds. Not wanting to lose their new friends, and having not heard back from Stephanie or Conner yet, they had invited the two to join them for dinner. Olive looked less than enthused, but Maps beaming face more than made up for it. 

The group started jokingly tossing out ideas for a Dungeons & Dragons campaign, while Maps interjected to correct Bart’s terrible understanding of the core rules. They decided to eat at the food court, and the group started splitting up to buy food. Stephanie and Bart went to Subway, Cassie and Greta checked out the ice-cream place, and Bart immediately latched upon the Chipotle.

Conner for his part wound up talking with Maps and Olive as they stood in line at the only burger joint in the mall. The line extended well past the belt barriers put up to maintain order, and seemed to be moving at a crawl.

“If you guys really want to play, you could come visit me at Gotham Academy,” Maps said eagerly.

Conner, personally was torn. D&D sounded an awful lot like something Clark would think was cool, which made it lame.

“Maps, don’t just invite people to the dorms,” Olive said, looking a bit like a concerned older sister.

“It’s _fine,_ Olive,” Maps pouted.

“She’s right,” Conner said, thinking back on his wild few weeks in Gotham, “Gotham is kind of crazy dangerous.”

Apparently this was the wrong this to say, because Olive groaned as Maps gasped.

“Do you _know_?”

“Excuse me?”

The line shuffled forward, incrementally, and Maps paid it zero attention, “About the creepy stuff in Gotham.”

“What sort of stuff?” Conner asked with a smile. He felt a bit like he was indulging a hyperactive kid.

“The _vampires.”_

Olive groaned again. “I will have nothing to do with this.”

“You’re no fun,” Maps said, then turned back to Conner her captive audience, “Gotham was founded by an ancient family of vampires, and they haunt the streets to this day.”

“How do you know?” Conner asked.

“Have you heard of the Bat?” Maps asked.

At Conner's negative, she eagerly shoved her phone in his face. “ _Google it._ He’s been spotted everywhere. He’s a seven foot tall vampire who haunts crime alley. _And_ Gotham PD has started uncovering blood drained bodies. Did you hear about the man in the park?”

“Which park?” Conner said, feeling a sense of unease settle in his stomach.  

“Robinson Park. It was some homeless guy.”

“And you think vampires did it?”

“Who else drains a body of blood? And I know who the Bat is too!”

“Who?” Conner asked, feeling like he might be buying into it a bit too much.

“ _Bruce Wayne.”_

“Seriously, Maps, I’m on a Wayne Foundation Scholarship, do you really think telling everyone they’re vampires is a good idea?” Olive asked.

It was clear the two had been talking about this for a long time. Maps pouted. “I’ll prove it. You’ll see. That entire family is a bunch of bloodsuckers.”

Olive seemed amused by this sentiment, but before anything else could be said, the cashier called for the next customer.

As Olive ordered, Conner turned to Maps, “What makes you think the Waynes are vampires?”

She grinned up at him. “If you give me your number, I can send you the links.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless your souls those of you who read this before I fix the typos. You are brave souls.


	7. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner is onto Tim's secret. He's not crazy.

Clark took one look at Conner as they piled into the car at the end of the day and frowned. “Did you buy new clothes? Do you not like your old ones? Should we go shopping?”

Conner waved him off, “Nah, I lost them in a bet with a hobo. Stephanie was there.”

The girl nodded solemnly. “Conner brought shame upon your family Mr. Kent.”

Clark, bless him, chuckled. “All right, if you’re sure. Now who do we drop off first?”

They made short work of dropping off each of Conner’s friends back where they came from, and Conner found himself shooting multiple goodbyes and promises to do this again soon after them. As the last of them, Bart who lived in the suburbs a forty minute drive away, finally left the vehicle, Clark gave Conner a look.

“What?” Conner asked.

“Nothing,” Clark said, but he continued to smile irritatingly.

Conner ignored it.

Instead he stumbled into his room, fiddled with his phone for only a few moments, and collapsed on his bed. He fell asleep instantly. The day had drained him far more than he realized.

In his dreams, Conner found himself arguing with Tim in chemistry class. He couldn’t even be sure what the argument was about, distracted as he was by Tim’s pale white skin and glistening fangs. And then the beach stretched out before them both, and Tim looked at him like he was dinner.

“Careful,” Conner turned into a faceful of smoke, and Jason grinned at him. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

Conner turned back just in time to see Tim lunge at him, and he shot out of bed.

Pure insanity. He was going insane. Fumbling for the phone on his nightstand he checked the time and saw that Maps had followed through. He had 6 unread texts full of links.

Excited despite himself, he pulled his chair up to his desk, and opened his old clunker of a laptop. Maps had sent him several links. The first was to a website that looked like it was written in 2003. The text was something close to comic sans and centered on the page with a black background. It claimed to have been written by some political activist wanting to uncover the truth about Gotham, and they signed every article with the letter A. The text extensively documented Gotham’s history, pointing out inconsistencies in the books, such as the multiple founding dates, the apparent appearance of the Elliot family in the books in 1800, despite the family’s claims of being founders. Overall it was boring reading. But up at the top of the page were several tabs. _The Court of Owls, Legends of Gotham Sewers, Haunting of Gotham Academy_ , and, most importantly, _Legends of the Bat_.

Conner found himself diving down a rabbit hole. The Legends of the Bat page listed out the history and sightings of a mysterious cloaked figure who stalked the streets of crime alley, and linked the figure to countless violent murders. There was a link to a shitty photo album full of blurry cell phone footage of shadowy figures and crime scenes.

Then there was a link at the bottom of the page: _The Truth About Gotham’s Elite_.

_The five founding families of Gotham. The Waynes. The Kanes. The Elliots. The Dumas. The Crowns. For years these families have had an unprecedented amount of control over the city of Gotham. Their descendents rule to this day. And I believe it is time to break their hold. By any means necessary._

The article went on to detail exactly how much of Gotham was owned by each family, and to present and expand upon the idea that they were responsible for everything that had happened to Gotham in the past three hundred years. It included documentation showing each family’s ties to the occult, the mob, and claimed they each swore allegiance to a dark god that lived under Gotham. Conner could have spent forever just on the singular website, looking at the family crests full of symbols of the old gods and the vampiric and demonic imagery in their tabloid photos.

Somewhere around the time the author claimed that the Wayne children never ate in public, and had been conveniently absent from school on days corresponding to local murders, he snapped out of his downward spiral and realized how insane it sounded.

Instead he navigated to the next website on Maps’ list. It was way more fun and far less stalkery. The website was an encyclopedia of vampires. It listed thousands of entries. Different types of vampires, different events involving vampires. Everything from Vlad the Impaler, to Dracula, to a very interesting incident called the Hope Brown Vampire Incident of Gotham. Apparently in the 1600s the Brown family suffered multiple deaths, and blamed it on their eldest daughter, claiming she was a vampire. They wound up driving a stake through her heart. Conner found the site more entertaining than frightening, and even took a short “Which Vampire Are You Quiz?” (he got Eric Northman and then wound up reading the summary of _True Blood_ on Wikipedia for thirty minutes).

Finally he turned over to the last few websites, all of which were news articles about a string of recent murders. The bodies suffered severe, almost animalistic wounds, and appeared to have bled out somewhere separate from where they were dumped. Conner recognized the Robinson Park murder at the top of the list. A homeless man, killed on a Wednesday. Cops were chalking it up to maybe a stray wolf or bear having wandered into the parks and gotten the guy while he was passed out in the park for the night. But Maps had sent him several other, remarkably similar murders. One in an alley not far from his and Clark’s apartment. Another further away in Crime Alley. Another in the Narrows. Maps also linked him to a few sightings of the Bat in the gossip column of the Gotham Gazette.

When Conner looked up from his computer he realized that light had already started spilling into his room, blue and gloomy. He checked the time only to realize he’d been up since dark and now 9AM had rolled around.

He sighed, and closed his computer.

* * *

Thoughts about the Waynes being Vampires didn’t leave Conner all morning. He went to breakfast with Clark at a small diner down the street. It was a waffle place, with low ceilings and wood floors and smelled despicably sugary. A hostess seated them and they ordered while Conner played the idea of Tim being a creature of the night over in his head.

Had he ever seen any of them in a mirror? Or sunlight? He tried to remember if it had been sunny that day with Jason on the roof. Also Tim had taken a bullet, so were vampires bullet proof? And Tim had been absent the day Ms. Isley took them to the blood drive he was pretty sure.

“Conner, are you ok?” Clark asked over eggs.

“Yeah, yeah. Just thinking.” Conner said. He picked at his waffles. A waitress in a blue button up dress eyed them from across the small diner. Or really eyed Clark. She had dark curls and too dark lipstick. Something about Clark seemed to simply attract the ladies, though Conner had never pinned down why.

“Well, do enlighten me,” Clark said in good humor.

Conner tried to think of a way to voice his concerns without sounding crazy. At last he settled on, “What do you know about the recent string of, like, wild bear attacks happening in Gotham?”

To Conner’s surprise Clark seemed to know what he was talking about, and considered it very seriously. He chewed his egg slowly, swallowed, and said, “I think it’s odd. Not too many bears in this area, if I’m being totally honest.”

“Or wolves,” Conner said.

Clark nodded in agreement. “And coyotes don’t maul people to death. Pets sure, but not six separate grown people.”

“So what do you think?” Conner asked, excited for once at the prospect of dragging a conversation with Clark out as long as possible.

Clark removed his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt, before answering, a habit Conner recognized as stalling for time. “About four years ago Gotham police found a fifteen foot monster croc in the sewers. It’s suspected it escaped from the zoo some twenty odd years ago.”

“So you think a freak croc is eating people in Crime Alley?” Conner asked incredulously.

“I didn’t say that. What I’m saying it...Gotham is...a strange city. It’s big, with secrets a mile deep. We have entire underground homeless cities built in disused subway tunnels, drugs that don’t even exist in half the country. We’re the worst combination of too much technology and too much decadence. And we’ve been hit be enough natural disasters in our history to warrant caution. If any city could have a rampaging animal killing people throughout the city, it would be us. But no, I don’t think it’s a bear. Or a croc.”

“What do you think it is?”

Clark frowned. “As a reporter, I hesitate to try and give an answer where I genuinely don’t have the facts. But I’ve been working for the past couple months on a rather thorough exposé on the Gotham PD. It’s hush hush because there’s a lot of people tied up in this. It’s actually how I met Bruce Wayne.”

Conner didn’t even notice his mouth was hanging open. “Excuse me?”

“Bruce and Commissioner Gordon have a long, historied friendship. At first I was investigating Bruce because Wayne Industries famously has been the weapons supplier to the Gotham Police force since forever. Militarization of the police being what it is. My current article started as a piece on that, but Mr. Wayne and Gordon both were happy to help set me up with some more connections. Apparently Gordon was brought in to help clean up the force. And Wayne Industry’s weapons dealing has been a long standing problem that’s already on an incremental changeover. Bruce plans to have that entire sector of the business retrofitted for security and surveillance. He has to finish up the last of the contracts that the company is tied up in, for legal reasons, but eventually it’ll be less guns, more planes, cameras, and computers. Of course, I think that’s still too slippery of a slope, but Bruce and I have had many a long conversation on that particular difference in ideologies.”

Never in his life had Conner felt that Clark could ever be cool. But this was pretty damn close. “So you think the animal attack thing is what, police corruption? Coverup? Do the Waynes know?”

“Oh it’s entirely possible,” Clark said. “I mean, no one cares because the victims are all homeless. That’s the only reason it’s not all over the news. It’s like this everywhere. I will say this, the Waynes, for all my problems with them, do mean well. Bruce outright wants to stop the manufacture and sale of guns within Gotham. First with his own company, then with everyone else. He has a very anti-gun policy. Which is understandable given his history.”

“Parents were shot, right?” Conner said, relying on tabloid knowledge and Stephanie’s gossip to not sound completely ignorant.

“Yep. Some low life thug. He’s up for parole in a year.”

“Really? How?”

“That’s just how the system works. Hey, if you want to know more about this, I can send you what I’ve got so far. Just be sure not to share with anyone else. I’m not exactly the most popular reporter in town.”

“I can read it on the train ride to Metropolis,” Conner said.  

At the mention of Metropolis Clark’s face fell. “Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you? I can get a hotel nearby and-”

“Clark, really, it’s fine. I’ll just tell him what he wants to hear, and I’ll be back before you know it. I’ll visit Roxy.”

Clark didn’t look happy, but Conner decided to dig into his waffles instead of trying to reason with him. It would only be one weekend after all. The fact the other man was so worried without having heard Lex’s threats made Conner double down on his decision not to tell him anything.

“You never told me much about the people you were with in Hawaii. Is Roxy…?”

“Like a sister, Clark,” Conner said, then thought about it a bit, “actually, you’d like her a whole lot. She used to keep me in line.”

“I’m glad,” Clark said softly.

They finished breakfast without much fanfare. Clark tipped the waitress too much for the amount of money he made, and they went home. Conner was sure to shoot Maps a quick thank you text, to which he got a thumbs up and an invite to Gotham Academy’s D&D club, which he kindly declined.

* * *

Conner’s last week of school leading up to his big Metropolis trip was bound to be unbearable. He already had bought a ticket for the train, one of Wayne Industries’ pet projects, Clark told him. Apparently Bruce Wayne liked being rocketed to Metropolis at 150 miles per hour in a silver bullet. It was better than flying though, and cost less for everyone involved. He’d be picked up at the station by one of Lex’s goons.

None of this planning did anything to alleviate the stress induced headache the upcoming trip caused. He decided to stay out of the house as much as possible because Clark had become unbearably worried about him and the trip, and of course, he walked into school Monday wearing Jason’s coat which became another problem unto itself.

He got to school early, keeping to himself, and finding a nice picnic table with a view of the parking lot near the school entrance. It drizzled on and off, and everything sat dewy and cold. Fall was definitely in full swing, but the wet gloomy fall as opposed to the crunchy leaves he had imagined. He waited for Stephanie to arrive, and pulled out the newest book they were covering in English class. _Heart of Darkness_. Like _Wuthering Heights_ before it, the text loomed impenetrably before him.

He had only struggled through a couple paragraphs when someone cleared their throat.

He looked up. Jason grinned at him, Tim and Duke in tow. Jason held out Conner’s jacket, and he tried not to look as relieved as he felt at seeing the old worn out thing.

“Uh…” Conner struggled not to sound like an idiot. He put his book down on the damp table and started to take off Jason’s jacket.

“Keep it,” Jason said, handing him back his own, “It looks better on you, right Tim?”

Tim just glared.

“Can we sit here?” Jason asked, “Tim doesn’t get out much and I’m trying to teach him to socialize.”

When Conner didn’t respond, Jason took it as a yes and grabbed the seat next to him. And despite looking like he hated them both, Tim sat down across from them with Duke.

“I’m Conner,” Conner said to Duke, figuring they’d never spoken to each other. Duke smiled.

“Yeah, I’ve heard. I’m Wayne six.”

This was clearly an old joke because Tim hissed in displeasure and Jason rolled his eyes.

“What? It’s true. You know he calls me by the wrong name when he’s stressed.”

“He does that to all of us,” Tim said, reaching into his bag and pulling out some homework.

“I’m just saying, anymore kids and this is going to be less a family, more an orphan collection.”

“So an orphanage, then?” Conner asked.

“Oh, he already owns three of those,” Duke said dryly.

Though the words were a bit harsh, everything in Duke’s demeanor spoke of absolute warmth. He grinned, even as he mocked his adopted family. It was a lack of weight, Conner decided. Though Duke teased about being an orphan, he didn’t talk or act like somehow the weight of the world had been placed upon him. In contrast his brothers both had the air of being guarded, and perhaps a little bit angry at the world in Jason’s case.

Conner decided Duke was the most normal of the Waynes he’d met so far, and thus his favorite.

“So how was your weekend?” Jason asked. “Besides the part involving me, of course.”

Conner tried to play nonchalant. “Boring.” Definitely not full of google searches for the Waynes. “Tried to read.” About Vampires. “Bought a ticket for next weekend.”

“You’re going to Metropolis,” Tim said.

“What’s in Metropolis that Gotham doesn’t have?” Jason asked incredulously, “You’re not going to homecoming? Man and I had all these plans.”

Conner shrugged. “Dances are lame.” Jason didn’t look like he believed him for a minute so Conner quickly added, “I have to visit family.”

“Grandparents?” Duke asked, good naturedly.

“Ah, not. Um. Legal guardian. Stuff.”

Tim’s face scrunched up, and Conner wondered if maybe that was his thinking face. The other boy tapped his hand against the table with a nervous energy, even as he asked, “Legal guardian? So who are you living with now?”

Conner tried to think of the best way to explain the situation without using names or outright lying. “I’m uh, living with my Bio Dad.”

“You were adopted?” Tim suddenly seemed far more interested in him than previously. The other two watched them with equal fascination.

“Yeah. Kind of. It’s complicated. But I decided I wanted to go to school in Gotham this year and so. Here I am.”

“Here you are,” Jason said solemnly.

“But you’re from Hawaii,” Tim said, annoyed. “You said you were in foster care in Hawaii.”

“Did I?” Conner said. Boy these Waynes liked to pry.

“What are you reading?” Duke said, obviously containing the most social grace between the three of them.

“English torture book,” Conner said.

Tim rolled his eyes. “If you can’t get through that, you’re going to hate next quarter.”

Conner flushed. He knew he wasn’t the sharpest tack in the English Lit box. Hell, his last three reading quizzes had ended with him hiding his grades from Cassie. If he had been at his tiny school back in Hawaii someone would have called for a parent teacher conference already. And he certainly didn’t appreciate Tim’s tone about the whole thing.

“It’s boring and stupid, ok?” Conner pouted and reached to put the book away. Jason snatched it up.

“Aw, it’s not that bad Kent. And if you’re so good at English, Tim, why don’t you help our friend out. You used to tutor that Lonnie kid, didn’t you?”

Tim refused to look up from his homework, but his mouth moved and almost imperceptibly, Conner heard an “I could…”

“Did you want something?” Conner asked, a little too aggressively. He was quite done being teased for the day.

Tim scowled.

“We were just checking in,” Jason said, not at all perturbed by Tim or Conner’s mood swings. “If you change your mind about the dance let us know, we can get you a suit and ride in a heartbeat.”

Conner rolled his eyes. He turned to Jason. “Thanks for my jacket back.”

“No problem,” Jason said, even as Tim stood to gather his stuff and marched away in a huff.

“Don’t worry about him,” Duke said, as they prepared to follow. “He’s been in a weird mood lately.”

* * *

Conner opened the conspiracy site full of blurry Wayne photos far, far more than he probably should have. His head hurt, and focusing on school felt impossible. He entertained himself instead with texting Maps some articles Clark had written on past crime waves, hoping she would like it. He then composed his own “the Waynes are vampires” theories. He even went to far as to propose the theory to Stephanie who laughed in his face.

“Now I know you’re crazy.”

They were in the back of English, and Cassie sat in front of them clearly itching to join the conversation but too beholden by her good grades to give in.

“But, I mean, come on. You have to admit it’s more fun than thinking they’re just rich jerks.”

“Cass isn’t a jerk,” Stephanie challenged.

“Rich jerks, plus Cass then,” Conner said, “But you have to admit they’re absent a lot.”

“And you think they’re what, exactly, sucking the blood of homeless people on their skip days?”

“Well they sure aren’t camping.”

“Touché.”

After English, Conner struggled through Spanish and Math. His mind wanted to keep constructing scenarios where he and Stephanie teamed up old noir film style, and tracked Tim down to an alley to discover his latest victim. This all consuming fantasy ate up so much of his time, he didn’t even realize the bell to lunch had rung and scrambled to grab his stuff.

Stephanie would hear no more of his theories at lunch, and instead talk turned to the upcoming dance. Who was going with who, who had a car, who needed a ride.

Stephanie said Cassandra would pick her up, and so needed no rides, but also couldn’t offer any. Jaime had gotten permission to use the car from his parents, and would be picking up Bart and Cass, both of whom had agreed they would all go together as friends. Conner said Clark would be willing to give a ride to any who needed it, and Greta shyly said that her date would be picking her up as well.

* * *

Stress hit Conner by surprise in chemistry. He had known going to Lex would freak him out, but in chem he found his head pounding, and gripped the table with a ferocity that whitened his knuckles. He couldn’t exactly afford the drop in grades a missing lab would cause and reasoned he could tough it out.

Tim predictably let him touch nothing, but with more force than usual. They were mixing shit and it was turning blue. Conner didn’t really understand.

“You should go to the nurse,” Tim said tersely, as he balanced a drop of clear liquid on the end of a dropper.

“Yeah, well,” Conner shrugged, wit leaving him.

Tim scowled, finished mixing whatever it was, grabbed Conner roughly by the arm and dragged him to Ms. Isley. Conner stuttered a little bit, taken aback by both the strength and the contact.

Tim could take a bullet, he reminded himself.

“Ms. Isley, Conner’s being stupid, can I take him to the nurse?”

“Does he need a babysitter?” Isley asked. She peered over her glasses at Conner and whatever she saw, it made her wave Tim off. “If you’ve finished your lab, go.”

Tim didn’t actually let go of Conner the whole way to the Nurse. Which was cute if a bit demeaning.

“I can walk myself you know.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you grabbed me.”

Tim rolled his eyes.

“Nurse won’t help.”

“Well maybe she’ll send you home.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Conner said, getting too closer for his own delirious good. They were almost to the office.

“No, I just don’t want you dead.”

“That why you drop kicked the mugger.”

“I thought we’d moved past that,” and Tim pouted, and stopped right before the admin office to look at Conner. He looked genuinely sad that Conner had brought up the mugging and Conner laughed.

“We will never get past that. You got shot.”

“I told you-”

“I know, I know!” Conner stepped back, both hands up, “I’m crazy, I know. But I’m onto you Tim Wayne I swear.”

Tim struggled to settle on a facial expression, and finally picked amused. “On to what?”

“Your secret.”

“And that is…?”

Conner looked around to make sure the hallway was absolutely deserted. Maybe it was the pounding ache in his head, or his desperate need to annoy Tim Drake Wayne as payback for being rude, but he leaned in conspiratorially to Tim.

Tim leaned in as well, gaze intent on Conner’s face.

“I know what you are,” Conner whispered.

He had just long enough to register the abrupt confusion that colored Tim’s face before the door behind them swung open.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you need to see the nurse?” Dr. Langstrom adjusted his glasses. “You can come in, I was just wrapping up some business with the blood drive.”

Conner turned, for only a split second, and when he looked back Tim was gone. He sighed.

* * *

The headache would persist on and off all week, much to Conner’s displeasure. There was a part of his soul, a very strong very real part, that yearned to find the nearest person, consequences be damned, and scream about the unfairness of it all. The absolute fuckery that his life had become. When he had had Roxy they would do just that while standing outside their cabin smoking, and knowing he would see her again was the only thing that kept Conner sane.

Friday afternoon Clark drove him to the station. He parked, walked Conner to the platform, and waited the twenty minutes it took for his train to arrive.

“Call me when you get there,” Clark said.

On the train he settled into a stiff seat, unable to sleep. He watched Clark out the window as the older man waved and the train started picking up speed. And then Gotham disappeared into a blur of silver and grey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot assembles itself, slowly.
> 
> I have loved talking to you guys in the comments because 9 times out of ten it's "So I don't like/haven't read/didn't think i liked Twilight BUT..." followed by the rest of the comment. Which i find hilarious. You keep me going, for realzies.


	8. Metropolis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally Conner heads to Metropolis and we get to talk to Roxy a bit.

Metropolis gleamed like diamonds in the late afternoon sun as the train pulled into the station. It never failed to make Conner’s heart race just a bit to see the buildings silver and thin arching towards the sky, the dot sitting atop one of the farthest and tallest signifying the Daily Planet. The skyline of Metropolis had always looked like something out of a fairytale, and Conner hated himself for missing it so much.

The sky was so _blue_ in Metropolis.

Stepping off the train, with one backpack of school work and another of t-shirts and underwear, Conner found himself on a busy platform. People crossed every which way to get to work, home, school. The energy pulsing through the concrete floor shook him after weeks of the drab, depressing sidewalks of Gotham.

A woman with bobbed hair, a neat skirt and crisp white shirt stood with a small dry erase board reading “Conner.” He recognized her severe stare immediately. Despite almost five years away, Mercy hadn’t aged a day.

“Mercy,” Conner said, walking up the woman who looked at him disparagingly.

“Lex is expecting you to be ready for dinner,” she said looking at his outfit. Lex would not be happy if Conner showed up in dusty jeans and a borrowed coat. Of course, Conner _didn’t care_ what made Lex happy except for how it affected Clark so he shrugged. He had long grown used to Mercy’s clipped tone and judgement.

“Better get going then so I’m not late.”

Typical of Lex, he had sent Mercy in a long, black Mercedes. It had six cup holders, a wine cooler, and several outlets that Conner used to charge his phone grudgingly. It would do him no good to lose his only lifeline to other people during his time at Lex’s.

He shot Clark a quick: **I’m here. Mercy picked me up.**

He had read most of Clark’s article on the train. In true Clark fashion the man had printed it out and handed it to Conner with a pen and a paper clip and an appeal to tell him what he thought of it. Conner had, despite himself, greatly enjoyed it. He couldn’t remember half the names in the article itself, but he had learned all about Gotham PDs long standing tradition of being backed by the mob. And of the countless criminal abuses by cops that got overturned or overlooked by a court lined with people being paid off. It honestly made Conner furious. Which didn’t help his mood going to meet Lex.

Deep breaths, he reminded himself.

Lex Luthor owned several buildings throughout Metropolis. LexCorp headquarters was the largest, and the top four floors of said headquarters made up the penthouse suite of the Luthor household. Amenities included a rooftop pool, a huge stainless steel kitchen, and of course, Conner had the third floor of the penthouse almost entirely to himself as a self contained suite.

Then there was the separate penthouse in the arts district for the ritzier events. The private home in Midvale. And several vacation homes in LA, New York, London, Paris, and Singapore. Conner couldn’t remember a time as a child when he hadn’t been whisked off to a new mansion every six months. He once even spent a month in Luthor’s Smallville estate while Lex went off to do god knows what.

Of course, that had also been back when Lex hadn’t let Conner out of his sight for a second.

The parking garage under LexCorp connected to an elevator that went straight to the penthouse. Mercy grabbed Conner’s bags and the two of them made their way to Conner’s wing of the house. The doors dinged open, revealing a wide, open floor, with a kitchenette and a living room. The living room faced floor to ceiling windows, and two doors led to Conner’s childhood bedroom and play room respectively.

Mercy practically threw his bags onto the low, grey couch in the living room and stalked off with only a “Don’t be late.”

As she left, Conner took the moment to breathe as deeply as he could. The air smelled like AC and mint. He frowned and headed to his bedroom with his bags hoping to unpack.

His bedroom had been drastically renovated since his last time there. Where once he’d had a closet full of sports gear and childrens suits and clothes, now was a full walk in closet full of designer wear. His bed, once covered in a dozen pillows and stuffed animals and a bright blue comforter, was now dark gray, with silk sheets. To his ever growing distress he found that the nanny cams that had once been omnipresent in his childhood had been upgraded to genuine security cameras. Lex’s ever obsessive need to keep an eye on him felt unsettling and he reached for the phone in his back pocket to reassure himself his connection to reality wasn’t going to vanish without warning.

He threw his measly t-shirts in the drawer of the nightstand and then struggled with what to do next. He felt under dressed, even in his own room, so he moved on to the bathroom.

This too had been renovated. Black granite counter tops, a neat set of expensive razors, and more body scrubs and colognes than Conner had ever used. He grabbed the ones that looked the most colorful, and started the tub, one of the few amenities he genuinely felt grateful for. It was large enough that even at a hulking six feet he could still recline all the way back. Plus jet massagers.

After sweeping the room for cameras (he found none, but still didn’t feel positive he hadn’t missed something), he stripped and stepped into the water slowly, hissing at the heat, and sat back. He closed his eyes and tried to sort out what he would do for the next 48 hours.

Homework certainly. Or at least he’d try. _Heart of Darkness_ might be more willing to reveal its secrets to his brain if the alternative was literally talking to the devil. He turned the dial by the tub all the way up, to the point the jet pressure was almost painful, but relaxation failed to come.

He had dinner tonight, but Lex hadn’t yet told him anything else. If tomorrow was free he’d visit Roxy. And then maybe he’d hole himself up in his room all weekend.

A ding sounded through the room. It came from speakers that ran through the whole house, and meant dinner would be ready soon, and he sighed and got out of the tub.

His closet was larger than he remembered. A blue suit, with an Oxford shirt and skinny tie had already been picked out and hung by the door for him. Dinner with Lex was always a business casual affair.

Conner pulled it on, and looked at himself in one of the many mirrors along the walls of his closet. He looked stupid. Like someone had tacked a nice suit on a monkey. He tried to mess up his already wet hair and took off the suit jacket. He rolled up the sleeves of his probably very expensive shirt and didn’t even bother with the tie.

He wandered back out to his bedroom and spotted Jason’s jacket. The staff had already managed to come in and fold everything neatly on his bed for him and he tried not to let that bother him. It was their job. He was being paranoid. And jumpy. Still, the sight of the old brown thing, already worn away at the elbows, grounded him in a way the bath hadn’t. He ran his hands over it. It still smelled like cigarettes.

He grabbed the jacket, pulled it on, and felt infinitely better for having it. He waited for the second bell.

* * *

Even as he stepped out of the elevator, the queasiness in Conner’s stomach refused to quiet. He wondered if Lex would be terribly offended if he barfed. He stepped into the dining room, and tugged Jason's jacket tighter despite the perfectly reasonable temperature.

The dining room where Lex waited for Conner was infinitely large. The same floor to ceiling windows from Conners room ran all along the left wall. The floor was a beautiful, glossy white tile, and a long glass rectangular table sat as the centerpiece. The right wall was taken up by a large fireplace, which emitted soft heat and orange light in the late evening.

And at the far end of the table, glass already full of sparkling champagne, sat Lex Luthor.

Lex was tall, older than Clark, and bald. Even sitting he cut an imposing figure, though nowhere near Clark’s lumbering size, in a white suit and dark grey shirt. He gestured with one hand for Conner to take a seat on his right. Conner sat at the opposite end of the table.

“Still difficult as ever, I see,” Lex said, smiling, “And I had hoped your time in Hawaii would have softened your heart.”

Conner stiffened, but decided on not speaking. Typically when he started speaking, Conner lost the fight.

Lex chuckled. “Very well then.”

On cue, one of the kitchen staff emerged from the door behind Lex with several platters. Like all the staff on call, the server dressed in all black and wore no makeup. They moved like stagehands, almost invisible despite standing in plain sight. They set a plate down in front of Conner. Hot sizzling lamb, roasted vegetables, potatoes. Everything looked amazing. He started eating immediately. Lex said he had to come, not that he had to have manners.

“I suppose they’re starving you over in Gotham. Rent is horrendous.” Lex ignored Conner’s ignoring him, and carried on conversationally in a light, easy going tone. Which pissed Conner off.

Lex took a delicate bite of his dinner, and seemed content to enjoy his meal and sip champagne as Conner ate in silence. For a moment Conner had the faint, glimmering hope, that maybe this would be it. Eat dinner awkwardly, go home.

Lex quickly crushed it. “Now that you’re here, it’s time to discuss this weekend’s itinerary. I’ve taken the liberty of requesting a transcript from your school, we will be reviewing and discussing your future plans on Sunday, following a private dinner with several important people in Metropolis who I think you will come to greatly respect. We will also be touring Metropolis University. Privately, of course.”

“What?” Conner gaped. He had no idea what Lex was going on about.

“Conner, honestly, chew with your mouth closed. You didn’t think I was going to let your future fall to the wayside just because you don’t live with me? Act rebellious all you want, but I’m giving you the best opportunities possible in the country.”

“My future?”

“ _University._ Internships if you want them. Jumpstart a career. You know I can afford it. If I didn’t already have the connections.”

“I’m just a junior,” Conner felt like he might be slipping. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought of his future, he just hadn’t thought of, well, anything that wasn’t saving up money to move into his own shitty apartment. College hadn’t been on the radar. Neither had Metropolis.

“And Junior year grades go on your college application. Tell me, are you doing any sports?”

“I don’t like sports teams…”

“Well you’ll have to pick up an extracurricular of some kind. I can’t carry you through the _entire_ admissions process.” Lex looked at him like he thought this was all very obvious and Conner was being slow.  

Conner couldn’t really think straight. “So...tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow Mercy will take you to tour Metropolis University. If you were here longer we’d be flying out to NYU and Stanford as well, but this will have to do. Any questions?”

“What’s the catch?”

Lex laughed. “Always a _catch_ with you Conner. We really should get you some therapy for that paranoia. By the way, when we’re done here, there’s an old friend expecting you in the guest wing.” Lex stood to excuse himself from dinner, but as he headed towards the elevator, he paused. “And Conner. As much as I appreciate your...spirit. Understand that as the heir to LexCorp I expect you to be on your _best_ behavior for the following two days. What you do in your private time, I do not care. But I would hate to have any negative impressions you leave with my contacts affect my decision to let you stay in Gotham.”

With that cheerful note Lex left the staff to cleanup dinner. And Conner moved to the guest wing without much hope for what he would find there.

* * *

Entering the guest wing with trepidation, because honestly what old friend could possibly be waiting at _LexCorp_ , Conner was ambushed by a face full of white fur.

“Krypto!” he cried, grabbing the old, mangy dog in a bear hug. Going on twelve, Krypto still jumped up to attack Conner with ferocious kisses.

“I’m sorry,” Conner told the dog, “I didn’t mean to be away so long. I know Lex sucks.”

He brought Krypto back to his wing of the house, and murmured things to him about his life and about what a good boy he was.

He didn’t have the heart to tell the poor thing he planned to leave again, but in the meantime, with Krypto sleeping at his feet and Jason’s jacket hanging off the bed post, for the first time since arriving he relaxed.

* * *

Saturday Lex didn’t show up to breakfast, and Conner ate in his private kitchenette. He’d evaded the staff and cooked subpar scrambled eggs and sorely missed Clark who had a habit of always having bacon on hand.

Despite Lex being out Conner had lived with him long enough to know not to do anything rash. He’d already found a camera under the counter.They were there to keep Conner in line, and he was sure there were a bunch he wasn’t seeing. So he settled in and tried not to do anything incriminating. He wondered what Stephanie might be planning before the dance but pushed it aside to focus on getting through the day.

Mercy picked him up at 9AM for the trip to Metropolis University.

MU was gorgeous. The campus stretched several miles, with some parks and dining areas for good measure. A tram ran from one end of campus to the other. All the buildings looked new, and everything was laid out in a very careful grid.

Mercy went with Conner to the tour office, which seemed identical to all the others except for the giant B on the front, and spoke to the secretary behind the counter. Conner watched a bunch of families drift in. Multiple parents, several annoyed younger siblings, and nervous jumpy high schoolers gathered in the gently decorated lobby, until there were about twenty people.

Everyone filled out a name tag, and a college student wearing a red polo shirt with blue piping came into the room and started shouting.

“Hi everyone! I’m Richard, and today I’m super excited to give you the Met U welcome. Now can I get some hands, who here is coming in undecided?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Luthor,” Conner turned to see, in all her tall blonde glory, Roxy Leech. The sound of the large tour group leaving faded away. “Are you ready for the tour?”

Roxy still stood taller than him, in a red polo shirt and cut off denim shorts. She grinned with the force of the sun and Conner felt weak with homesickness from just looking at her.

“I-Yes?”

“Great, right this way!”

Roxy led him out the door, away from the other tour guides. Mercy went with them, stopping just outside.

“I was told by Mr. Luthor to give you the opportunity to explore MU on your own. It’s ten thirty now, I will return at noon exactly to take you back. Do you understand?”

At his nod, she stalked off, clearly not happy with letting him out of sight. Conner spun around to face the woman who was, for all intents and purposes, his sister.

She flung her arms around him, and cried “I missed you so much!” right as he said, “He probably bugged my clothes.”

Roxy laughed. “That bad?”

“Worse. What are you doing here?”

Roxy grinned, indicating her polo shirt. “I’m a tour guide. And Lex Luthor specifically requested me. I thought you knew?”

“I had no idea. I thought I would have to sneak out tonight.”

Roxy scowled, and looked in the direction Mercy had gone. “You might still have to. Did you hear that bitch. Noon? Is she crazy?”

“ _Roxy._ ”

“Sorry. So should we tour?”

Conner held out his arm for her to take. “Absolutely nothing would make me happier, Miss Leech.”

“Then let’s be off, Mr. Kent.”

hr />

Roxy seemed determined to lead Conner through the most convoluted paths across the school. She found ledges to climb, hidden walkways behind buildings, and tunnels between food courts to drag him through. Conner saw a dozen tall, silvery, square buildings boasting “state of the art equipment”. They went through a dining hall, which was walled entirely in glass making the sun glare truly horrible. And then they went down several pathways until he was sure they were lost. All the time Roxy asked him questions.

“Do you like school?”

“No.”

“Do you have friends?”

“Yes. Her name's Stephanie. You’d like her.”

“Do _you_ like her?”

“ _No_.”

“Do you _like_ anyone?”

“Why are you like this?”

Regular college students paid them absolutely zero attention, too busy rushing to class to do anything other than glare when they tumbled out of a narrow path between a large building Roxy said might have been an art building and a theater.

They took a brief trip through one of the towering dorm buildings. Roxy showed him her room. The rooms were cubes, with basic furniture and a shared bathroom between two rooms.

Eventually they ran out of both topics and things that Roxy thought were worth looking at. They wandered out of the dorms to a nearby park. It was round, smaller than it had looked from a distance, and with plenty of trees and benches to make for good sitting and talking nonsense to each other.

“I’m sorry I have to send you back,” Roxy said, as they sat in the grass.

Conner shrugged. “It’s ok. This campus is nice. Are you happy here?”

She nodded, playing with the blades under her hands. “They have a world class forensics and criminal justice program. It’s amazing. I’ve already lined up a part time job doing dumb paperwork stuff at a police department not far from here.”

“Detective Roxy Leech.”

“Shut up,” she threw some grass at him, but there was no heat.

“How’s Clark?”

Once, this question might have set Conner off, spiraling him into a funk of a mood that would have taken days to subside.

“Clark’s great,” he said honestly. “Did you know he owns the X-Files on tape?”

Roxy laughed. “ _Why?”_

“He still has a VCR. Sometimes we watch Buffy together. He cooks bacon all the time.”

“Sounds like you get along,” she said.

Conner nodded and laid back. Ironically just talking about Clark calmed some of his nerves about Lex.

“And he’s ok with you? And you’re ok with him?” Roxy asked.

“We’re something. Definitely not as bad as we used to be.”

“Good. I’m glad. At least someone’s dad is stepping up.” Conner rolled his eyes. He was going to ask after Rex, after all, he hadn’t heard anything in weeks, but Roxy interrupted. “Don’t look now, you’ve got an admirer.”

So of course Conner immediately turned around.

Across the grass a boy with black hair and a canvas wound up awkwardly meeting Conner’s eyes as he very obviously held up his paint brush in an attempt to measure something in the distance.

Conner jumped up.

“Conner!” Roxy said, “Play nice.”

Conner walked over to the guy, who grinned at him, apparently not at all embarrassed for having been caught.

“What are you doing?” Conner asked.

“Admiring the scenery. though I have to say, the scenery isn’t usually this lovely. You a freshman?” the guy said, and stepped back so Conner could look at the picture.

“He’s in high school,” Roxy said from behind him, and Conner tried not to feel disappointed when the painter noticeably deflated.

“Here for a look at the college life then?”

“Something like that.” Conner shot a glare at Roxy for ruining everything, and she glared right back.

The canvas was huge, larger than Conner had realized. It was almost as tall as him. The boy had painted most of the park in gorgeous, stylized strokes, and front and center was a rendering of Conner and Roxy. It could have been anyone, of course, the two figures were sitting far from the viewer, but the girl had Roxy’s wild blonde hair and sky blue eyes.

It would have been an amazing painting. Something you hung in a museum. Except for the giant mech the student had painted into the background.

“What do you think?” the student asked with a smug grin.

“I think...you’ve really captured the essence of this courtyard. The realism here is astounding, I mean it could really be a photo,” Conner said.

The student chuckled. “I like you. Future art student?”

Conner shook his head. “I’m a terrible artist. I’m just here because my parents said I had to be.” The lie rolled off his tongue a lot easier than it should have, and he tried not to let it bother him.

“I’m Kyle, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Conner. This is my _sister_ , Roxy.”

“Nice to meet you Roxy,” Kyle said, turning to the girl in question, then leaned in and whispered, “I promise I will not flirt with your underage brother.”

“You keep good on that promise or we’ll have trouble,” she said. “Do you always paint weeb shit?”

“I’m the worst kind of degenerate,” Kyle confirmed.

Kyle was gorgeous. He looked a bit like Keanu Reeves, but more baby faced and with a less gangly build. He held out his phone for Conner and Roxy to see. It was full of anime and comic book fan art, but at a level that impressed even Conner, who knew nothing about art.

“You’re very fun to paint though,” he said, “Both of you. Sorry. If you don’t want to be in it. I can scrub you out. I was getting bored of painting blades of grass.”

“I have to admit, for a degenerate this is pretty great,” Conner said. “Like, really.”

“Thanks,” Kyle said, “despite my obvious passion for oil painting,” here he glared at his shiny canvas, “comics are my calling. You don’t even draw a little?”

“I once tried to teach myself guitar, but that’s as close to art as I ever got.”

“Damn shame. Probably for the best though. Art is expensive. If you’re around later today, tell your family to stop by the undergrad painting 20A show. It’s free. Free food too.”

“I’ll consider it. For the food.”

Kyle rolled his eyes.

“We should get going. It was nice meeting you Kyle,” Roxy said, and grabbed Conner’s arm, “Come on. Let’s not make Mercy wait.”

* * *

Asking to stay for the evening was decidedly more painful than Conner felt was reasonable. Mercy had tapped her foot impatiently and glared while Conner dialed Lex.

“I really like it here. There’s an art show later. Can I stay?” Conner asked.

Living with Clark meant not really asking to do anything, ever, so the question sat awkward in his mouth as Lex laughed on the other end of the line.

“I take it you were glad to see your friend?”

“Yeah, well you could have told me. How did you know she was here?”

“It would have ruined the surprise. I have my ways. I’ll waive our dinner for tonight. Enjoy the campus nightlife. Be home by eleven PM or there will be consequences.”

“Yes sir.” The old training resurfaced easily. Too easily. Conner could feel pieces of his brain clicking into place that hadn’t been used in years. Lex was playing nice. Lex was making this easy for him.

If it kept up, he could almost imagine staying.

* * *

The hours Conner spent with Roxy were the highlight of the trip. He told her about Tim, and the vampires, and she promised to take him to go find some wooden stakes after dinner if he promised to tell her how his vampire hunt turned out. They also talked about Jason, and Stephanie.

He accompanied her back to her dorm, and the two killed time before the art show by doing laundry.

“So you made friends?” She said, sounding hopeful as she tried to move her wet clothes from the dorm washing machine without dropping it on the floor.

The building had a laundry room in the basement with maybe half a dozen machines, grey concrete floors, and no AC. The room managed to be muggy even in the middle of fall.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s kind of weird. We don’t talk to each other much. About anything important.”

“Gotta give some to get some, I guess. And how are you feeling after, you know?”

She tried to look nonchalant, but failed, and Conner scowled.

“We don’t have to talk about this.”

“Kay fucked you up good, Conner.”

“I’m _fine._ ”

Roxy said “Sure,” and didn’t push it, but they fell silent awkwardly after that.

“How’s Rex?” Conner asked, trying not to feel as bad about it as he did.

Roxy smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Rex is gone. I’m trying to forget him.”

It would probably be better if Roxy forgot him. Shitty parent that he was. But Conner didn’t like the way Roxy leaned against the dryer after starting it, and let her head fall back like she thought the ceiling held the answers.

Cutting people out had always been easy for Conner. People like Lex Luthor made sure of that. Roxy not so much.

“Remember when Rex got me drunk for my fifteenth birthday.”

Roxy snorted. “You weren’t drunk, you were dying of alcohol poisoning, hun.”

Conner took a seat on the machine opposite her. “He tried to teach me basketball, too.”

“You were good, if I recall.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” Conner said. He looked down, as Roxy looked at him with startling blue eyes. “Living with you guys was the best time I ever had. Hand to God.”

She hopped off the machine. “Listen, Conner, sweetie.” She touched his hand. “You were the best thing that ever happened to us. Don’t worry about Rex. Things will be fine. If it weren’t for you I wouldn’t even be here right now.”

“Thanks,” Conner said, voice small. Smaller than he meant it to be.

Roxy pulled him into a hug.

* * *

Kyle’s show was being held on the arts side of campus, and Roxy lead him there, talking the whole way about MUs award winning criminal justice and forensics programs.

They arrived at a tall building with a huge lobby. The glass doors were open to the public, with a large glittery sign declaring it Undergrad Quarterly Show. Conner and Roxy looked painfully under dressed in their jeans but they walked in anyways.

All around the walls hung paintings of enormous size. Many were landscapes of varying locations in Metropolis. Tons of students, professors, and general passerbys stood ogling various pictures. Someone had painted a rainy street so realistically Conner wanted to lick it. Roxy pulled him away from the canvas with force.

“But it’s _shiny-”_

“No.”

It took them an absurdly long time to find the snacks. Cheese, crackers, and wine were set out on a small, round black table in the back of the room.

“This is the deepest betrayal.” Conner told Roxy as he stared at the refreshments, “I swear to you I had no idea. If I ever find this man. He will pay.”

“How about if I pay for your pizza instead.”

Conner jumped.

Kyle appeared behind them with his model good looks and a grin that said this had all somehow been a part of his plan. He looked good in black skinny slacks and a dark green button up shirt.

“Sorry for the free food bit. I kinda figured you weren’t a fine cheeses guy, but hey, more the merrier with these shows.” Kyle reached between them for said cheese and popped it into his mouth whole. “Welcome to the fine art world. Sucks don’t it? But I know the cheapest twenty-four hour pizza place if you want to bounce with me in,” he faked looking at a watch, “twenty minutes.”

“What’s in twenty minutes?”

“Nothing I just wanted to show you something first.”

Kyle grabbed Conner and Roxy and dragged them across the room, through a crowd of mulling people, towards a large group gathered around a very tall painting.

“Excuse me, _artist_ coming through,” Kyle said, until he pushed to the front of the crowd and revealed his master work.

The six foot high canvas that hung on the wall was the same from earlier, full of more explosions, certainly, but still with the mechs and the small figure of Roxy at the front. And one change.

“Am _I_ piloting the mech?” Conner asked, laughing.

“What can I say, you are my muse.”

“That’s amazing,” Roxy said.

“That’ll be two-thousand dollars.” Kyle said, turning expectantly to Conner. On seeing his face Kyle laughed. “Kidding, kidding. This is easily 15,000 dollars worth of work I wouldn’t sell it to you if you threatened my life.”

“I’ll take it.” Conner said.

Kyle laughed.

“I’m serious.”

There was a beat of silence where Kyle looked uneasily at Conner, then at Roxy, who shrugged, then at the crowd and back to Conner.

“Uh. You can have it for free dude. Fine art is a scam. I did this for class.”

“You said this was easily fifteen thousand dollars.”

“Well, yes but-”

“Pay for my pizza later and we’ll call it even.”

As Kyle stuttered to figure out how to respond, Conner was already reaching for his wallet.

* * *

“You’ll call if you hear anything?” Conner said, dawdling outside the pizza parlor with Kyle and Roxy. Kyle had, as promised, paid for everything, and hadn’t calmed down about Conner being Lex Luthor’s kid for the last hour and a half.

Roxy gave him a watery smile, clearly trying her best. “I will. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Conner said.

Mercy honked from the car idling on the curb. Conner ignored her.

“Make sure to apply here,” Kyle said, “You’ve bought my friendship for life.”

“Send me your weird weeb paintings whenever,” Conner said, “I’m sure Lex won’t mind.”

He said a final goodbye to Roxy, and at Mercy’s second honk, finally turned to go home.

* * *

Conner arrived home to an empty house. The lights were off, the staff likely asleep, and he had always personally theorized that Lex didn’t sleep in the house, but in a secret bomb shelter under the building. A theory yet untested, but still.

He used his brief freedom only to trudge to his room, feed and water Krypto, and collapse on his bed face first.

Today had been, quite possibly, the best possible day he could have had while at Lex’s.

His phone rang in the darkness of his room, screen lighting up, and he groaned even as he reached to answer it.

“What?” he said into the speaker.

“Conner,” came Stephanie’s frantic voice, “Oh my God, you are not going to _believe_ what happened tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm doing Inktober, which means updates will be late. To make up for it I'm hoping to post TWO chapters next time, but we'll see.


	9. Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner meets and greets some of the big names in Metropolis at Lex's party.

Conner learned several things from Stephanie, wildly out of order.

First was that Tim took Greta to homecoming, which baffled him more than anything because he hadn’t thought they even spoke to each other. Cissie King-Jones won Homecoming Queen, but had a mental breakdown at the dance. Her date (a boy Conner had never met named Jackson Hyde who was apparently captain of the football team) was gay and maybe into Bart which resulted in Bart kissing Jaime, though that part Conner wasn’t a hundred percent sure on because Stephanie had kept sidetracking. Cissie, it turned out, went home with Cassie, and they apparently knew each other from middle school. Jason Todd showed up with Kory Anders, a supermodel and ex-fiance of his older brother Dick Grayson which caused a fight with Tim, leaving Greta dateless. And finally:

“Cass asked me on a date! We’re going to Freddy’s on Friday!”

And with all that information swimming in his head, Conner’s own ability to think straight veered horribly off course. He stayed up late, curled up by the window in his living room, and watched the lights of city below wink in and out of existence as people came and went throughout the night. Krypto curled up at his feet, snoring horribly.

And that was where the staff found him the next morning when they emerged from the service elevators with breakfast on a tray. Tired, and with a kink in his neck from where he had leant against the window frame, he stood slowly, and trudged back to his room.

After sweeping the place for more nanny cams and leaving his phone to charge, he sank into his tub and mentally prepared himself for the day ahead.

* * *

Lex spent the day practically giddy. Conner could tell because the man made several visits to Conner’s wing of the house, and once he even caught him whistling, a habit he knew must have been from his time with Clark.

Conner skulked around the edges of whatever room he occupied, and tried to ignore the obvious air of _something about to happen_ that poured off everyone in waves. The staff scurried in and out of the house like ants on fire and Conner continued to puzzle over what, exactly dinner would entail.

He found out at seven, when a staff member showed up to his room with a newly tailored designer suit.

Lex was holding his annual Tech Gala. The Gala was Lex’s way of showing off his toys to the local billionaires and Conner had been barred from them when he started refusing to wear suits. He sighed and pulled on the one he had been handed, even as he listened to the explanation of where he was expected to be tonight.

“Lex would like to introduce you to his business partners,” he was told.

He sighed. One more evening and then he could go _home._

* * *

The main hall was so bright Conner has to squint as he entered the room. Bright white marble, a high ceiling full of crystalline lights, and gold and silver gleaming accents on everything, the main showroom floor of the Gala put a Disney princess ballroom to shame.

Everyone dressed to the nines, and Conner felt like the youngest person in the room. He’d never been one for being self conscious, and at a towering 6’1” he’d never found adults particularly intimidating, but in a room full of refined faces a narrowed eyes Conner ducked his head and tried not to make eye contact.

He wondered glumly if this was how Clark had lived out the last of his days at LexCorp. No wonder he left.

Lex stood across the floor. Every twenty feet or so was a new gadget in a glass display, and Lex liked to live demo the the stuff and take bids right in the middle of the crowd. Right now he stood over an advanced robotic dog like thing, the kind the the military probably would use to carry heavy equipment. It looked a bit freaky, but Lex was making to to tricks and agility tests for the crowd and Conner was sure there’d be a buyer before the night was over.

The worst part of the entire thing was, perhaps, until Lex called for dinner, the fact that Conner had absolutely no one to talk to. No one his age, anyways. And he didn’t pay enough attention to tabloids to recognize any of the billionaires in the room. He stayed away from his phone as best he could because Lex would  be watching he was sure, but how he would have killed for company.

He wondered if Bruce Wayne’s kids had to put up with this bullshit.

“Are you ready for dinner tonight?”

Conner jumped.

Behind him stood a towering, severe looking man, with Clint Eastwood good looks. He had an incredibly grim, serious face, which didn’t at all fit the private grin he flashed at Conner like he knew him. The man was considerably older, and Conner huffed, stuffed his hands into his pockets instead of shaking the offered one, and said, “And you are?”

“Bruce Wayne.”

Conner did _not_ splutter. “Conner-”

“Oh, I’m _aware-”_

“- Kent.”

Bruce looked perplexed and Conner privately considered that a great victory. “Kent?”

“What of it?” And if Conner was being a little more antagonistic than usual tonight, well, that was his prerogative.

Bruce snatched a champagne flute off of the tray of a passing staff member, flashing the girl a smile before he returned his attention to Conner. His earlier surprise seemed to have vanished. For someone famous he seemed oddly normal in person. Having spent the last couple months making up stories about him and his kids’ extravagant lives, Conner felt almost embarrassed to speak to him, but held it in for the sake of being obtuse.

“Nothing of it. Mr. Kent is a good man, anyone would be proud to carry his name I’m sure.” And he spoke like Tim, which was surprising, but suddenly Conner felt almost endeared. Bruce was little stiff and way too formal, even as Conner felt sure he was trying to be casual. It was like no one had ever taught him how to relax. At least now he knew Tim wasn’t _born_ like that. And seeing it in Bruce, Conner could almost imagine Tim grown up, though he’d probably never be as tall. Also, the way Bruce spoke of Clark, he made it sound like he was _praising_ Conner for the use of Clark’s surname and Conner preened despite himself and found he like Bruce all the more for it.

“He’s great,” Conner agreed, too tired and too homesick for Clark’s stupid breakfast and small talk to pretend to be cool, “I miss him.”

Bruce nodded towards where Lex lead a group of finely dressed women around a display case full of model spacecraft for his deep space program. Lex waved his arms, as he explained, and to anyone who hadn’t grown up watching the man practice his charismatic speeches to the mirror, it would have seemed like he was naturally exuberant. To Conner it all looked incredibly fake. He knew Lex probably personally hated most of the people in attendance.

“He mentioned you lived with Lex once.” Bruce said. And It wasn’t accusatory, but the tone implied Bruce either thought he knew more and wasn’t saying, or had been told something more, and Conner sighed. He did not like explaining himself to strangers.

“I used to.”

“We were told you would be joining us for dinner.”

Conner shot him a look. “And?”

Bruce made a little noise, a low hum like he was thinking about something, and at last said. “Lex and Clark both speak very highly of you.”

Bruce regarded him with a long, hard stare. His blue eyes were closer in color to Tim’s than Jason’s. The same steely edge of confidence ran through them both.

“Uh, thanks.”

With that Bruce Wayne glided away to go mingle with the rest of the surely important guests, leaving Conner more worn out than he had realized as the lack of sleep from the night before began to have its effects.

* * *

Conner had suspected his night couldn’t get worse than a stuffy suit and some weird huorderves  when Bruce walked away. He had been mistaken.

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the whole charade (and not because she didn’t belong, the woman was gorgeous and belonged wherever she damn well pleased) was a tall, elegant, black haired woman in an open back dress of the darkest violet. It shimmered in the crystalline light.

Her name was Lois Lane and despite himself Conner felt himself seething at the sight of her.

 _Lois_ had been the one to convince Clark Lex was a problem. Friendly, neighborhood, not at all scheming with ulterior motives _Lois_ had been the one who got to keep her pedigree and job at the Daily Planet when Lex went apeshit while Clark had to leave.

The nerve of some fucking people.

She turned and when her eyes fell on him, she smiled and made her way through the crowd.

Conner felt the last bits of his good grace wither at her approach.

“Conner,” she said, like they were friends or some shit, “You look just like Clark.”

“And how could you know that? It’s been almost ten years since you’ve seen him, hasn’t it?”

Lois flinched visibly and her smile became unsteady. “It’s been seven years.”

He waited, and when she realized it would be up to her to keep the conversation going, she sighed and reached for her purse.

“Conner, I know you never liked me, but believe me when I say I never meant for you to get hurt. Lex Luthor is-” she stopped herself, eyes darting to where Lex and a group of women chatted at the end of the room, “-a snake in a designer suit. I’m glad Clark’s ok. I’m glad you’re ok. I was hoping you’d be here.”

“Yeah?”

She smiled up at him, and despite the fact he had sworn not to fall for her pity stories years ago when Clark had insisted he still loved her, he could see for a minute why Clark loved her.

“I’ve been trying to get in touch with Clark I-”

“If he doesn’t want to talk to you-”

“No, I, you don’t understand.” Fast enough that it must have been sleight of hand, Lois tucked something into his front breast pocket. “It’s _important_. I don’t care that he doesn’t want to see me, he doesn’t have to. Just give this to him.”

And without another word she glided away into the crowd. Conner didn’t see her for the rest of the night no matter how he strained his eyes, and though his curiosity burned, he kept from reaching for whatever she had given him.

Lex would be watching his every move, after all.

* * *

The room in which Lex held his private dinners, and played host to dozens of the world’s most powerful people, was a fine, open air dining room with a large balcony the length of the room that looked over Metropolis. Conner could make out the brassy glow of the Daily Planet, which Lex bought the year before Clark left, and the dotted lights of what might have been the university. The room was unbearably cold, even in his stuffy suit, and the staff made no move to close the wide open doors as select guests from the party downstairs slowly meandered in.

Nightfall left the sky a deep indigo, and light pollution kept all but the strongest of stars from shining. The fluorescent white light haze from the city below and the dim light of a fireplace inside were the only light sources, leaving Conner in shadow at his corner of the balcony railing.

Conner had been lead in by one of the staff members before anyone else had arrived, and lurked on the balcony hoping to stay out of sight as long as humanly possible. Men in fancy black suits started lighting cigars, and ladies in fine silk gowns sipped champagne. Everyone spoke in a hushed murmur, the kind that happens before a theater show. Maybe twenty people had made their way upstairs now.

Bruce Wayne stepped off the elevator, accompanied by a staff member who quickly bowed and scuttled away. Bruce, unlike everyone else in the room, seemed incapable of carrying himself in a hushed or nervous manner. He walked, broad shoulders thrown back, like he owned the place, and the way people parted for him Conner suspected he pretty much did.

Bruce walked out to the balcony, seeming not to notice Conner at all, pulled out a cigarette and in a fashion much like Jason, lit it. It smelled like death, and Conner spoke before his brain caught up to his mouth.

“Does Jason know you smoke?”

Bruce’s eyes shone with nothing but humor as they sparkled in the light of his cigarette and the city below.

“Smoking will kill you.” Conner tried to cover up.

“Lot’s of things could kill me. I’m surprised they haven’t already,” Bruce said, good naturedly. He looked around at the rest of the people on the floor and sighed a little, “Between you and me, it’d be preferable to what I’m sure will be an unbearable dinner.”

He sounded painfully like Jason.

Conner bit his lip. Part of him wanted to believe this man, in his slick suit and no-nonsense manner. That in this world of untrustworthy billionaires Bruce Wayne was real. And a little voice in his head kept telling him something was fake. Maybe it was the paranoia of living with Lex, or the oddity of meeting someone he had been hearing about so much, but Conner felt like he was tripping up the stairs when it came to Bruce Wayne.

“I’m sure dinner will be fine,” he said, feeling fake.

Bruce smiled. “I meant to say it earlier, but I got distracted,” Conner doubted that, “Clark’s a good friend of mine. If there’s anything you need, say the word. I know my boys can be trouble.”

“Good friends, huh?”

Bruce grinned, if anything, and yes, the family resemblance to Jason was becoming exceedingly clear, “The best. Now I believe we’re about to be seated.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Lex Luthor stepped onto the balcony in a bright white suit. “Let’s get started.”

* * *

Conner sat to the right of Luthor, and Bruce sat two chairs down. Other famous faces at the table he was introduced to in quick order were Oliver Queen and his wife Dinah, Ted Kord, Maxwell Lord, and Luke Fox.

Conner let the names and faces blur together, and grimaced at the number of men in the room. Something about the omnipresent boy’s club nature of the table did not, he feel, bode well for dinner.

Lex started them all off amicably enough, with a toast, and introductions.

“This is my son, Conner. He’s a junior in high school and, I expect, looking forward to graduation. I thought while he was here in town on tour of the MU campus I might introduce him to some of my long time friends. Conner?”

Conner nodded curtly. “Hello.”

Lex smiled, “He’s shy.”

“I didn’t realize you considered me a friend, Lex. I’m touched.” Bruce said.

It was hard to tell with Bruce if it was a sarcastic barb or just a flat delivery, but Conner figured by the way Lex’s smile turned imperceptibly more forced it could have been both.

Conner contented himself with pushing the food around on his plate and barely eating while Lex started talking.

Rich people spent a lot of time schmoozing, and this was no different. Anyone who wasn’t anyone spent a lot of time telling Lex how great Conner looked, how proud he must be. Conner didn’t miss the way they all asked after his school work and extracurriculars, like they were sizing him up.

“Does he play football?”

“He used to,” Lex answered for him every time.

Further down the table, Bruce cleared his throat and grabbed his attention.

“Conner, this man right here,” he gestured to the man between them, “Is Ted Kord. Ted, tell Conner about the time Michael convinced you to jump out of a plane?”

Looking terribly aghast, the average, slightly pudgy man between them spluttered, “ _Bruce.”_

But there was no denying Bruce Wayne anything, and soon Conner’s night was made slightly more bearable by the addition of Ted Kord, a billionaire whose stories mostly involved harrowing tales of hijinks gone awry with his best friend Michael.

“I make gadgets,” Kord told him eventually. “Smart watches, phones, radios, this really cool electronic kitchen multitool.”

“Uh, cool?”

Ted immediately pulled out his phone to show them pictures, and Conner felt eternally grateful for the distraction.

* * *

As the last of the guests left for the evening, Conner felt a hand come down on his shoulder, and sighed. He looked up. Lex stared down at him.

“How did you enjoy dinner, Conner?”

“It was fine,” Conner said, doing his best to lie through his teeth even as Lex looked less than convinced.

“Come with me.”

Lex didn’t wait up.

Lex’s office had been a terrifying place when Conner was a child. Being called to the office meant he had inevitably done something to displease Lex. Had made a fool of himself or the family, or asked for the wrong thing at the wrong time, or had fallen behind in school. It was a small room, with a large mahogany desk and shelves lining the walls. It’s windows made it so that during the day the sun shone behind Lex and guests had to squint to look at him. There was probably an analysis to be made on why Lex would arrange his room like that.

Lex sat in a tall backed office chair and Conner was left standing before him like he was still a child.

“Your grades are abysmal. What _were_ you doing in Hawaii those few years, did you learn nothing from your tutors?”

Conner shrugged.

“With grades like this I doubt you’ll be seeing the inside of a university for a long time. I expect significantly better.” Lex grabbed a bottle of wine from under his desk and poured himself a drink. “With this sort of performance I’ve half a mind to pull you out of Gotham entirely.”

“I don’t want to go to college.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You say that now but in a year-”

“What could I possibly learn at a university that I don’t already know? Or that I want to do?”

Lex went deadly silent, and Conner knew he fucked up. He sipped his drink, and years of learning to dread Lex’s anger had Conner clamming up.

Leaning forward, he spoke quietly, “Conner, in this house you _will not_ interrupt me when I am speaking. Do not pretend you know what’s best. The most you’ve ever accomplished was bumming around an island with a despicable deadbeat swindler and-”

Conner flared. No amount of childhood fear would let him ignore a slight against Roxy and her family. “Rex was an alright-”

“Rex Leech and his daughter are the reason our society is crumbling at the seams.”

“Because you and all your rich friends are bastions of moral decency?”

Lex scowled. “I can see I won’t convince you of anything tonight.”

Conner huffed, crossing his arms and turning back towards the door.

“Improve your grades boy, or I’m bringing you home.”

Conner bit his retort and stormed out.

* * *

Conner packed his bags and left the building without a word to any of the staff, Mercy, or Lex.

All things considered the night could have gone a lot worse.

He walked all the way to the nearest train station. Not because it was close, but because he didn’t feel like using Lex’s money to catch a cab and he’d rather die than go back and ask for a ride.

He arrived at the station by 11PM.

His train arrived twenty minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY FAM  
> Sorry for the delay. Currently I am job hunting so I will not promise a regular schedule (though i should have another chapter up tonight)
> 
> Forgive me for my typos
> 
> someone find me a beta reader


	10. Education

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner's first day back is off to a rocky start.

“You are unbelievable,” Clark said, “I can’t believe you walked all the way home. Do you have any idea how dangerous Gotham is at night?”

“It’s fine Clark.”

“I mean I know Lex can be difficult but this is-”

“It was my fault, I stormed off.”

Clark’s eyes softened. They sat at the rickety table at the end of the kitchen and Clark piled more bacon onto Conner plate.

“I wish you had called me.”

“I didn’t think you’d be up.”

Clark heaved a huge sigh. “Teenagers. Unbelievable.”

“You said that already.”

Clark hummed good naturedly and picked at his own breakfast. “And how was your weekend, anyways?”

Conner shrugged. “Terrible.”

“Lex was behaving though?”

Conner could read the question in between the lines. ‘He isn’t taking you back, is he?’. Conner already knew that, no matter what happened, he would be protecting Clark from all of the bullshit. He’d have happily kept Clark in the dark about his entire trip if it had been possible. The man looked like he was already running on empty, with unkempt hair, and crooked glasses. He didn’t want to pile more worry onto that. He thought of the note Lois left, that he had stuffed in the bottom of his bag.

“It was fine. More of a meet and greet thing, really.” Conner hesitated on his next question because, though he didn’t want Clark involved, something  _had_ been bothering him. “I met Bruce Wayne. He said you were good friends.”

To Conner’s surprise, Clark blushed. “I...may have gotten a bit drunk at the last Wayne party.”

That was new information.

“Don’t you need to go to school?”

“Fuck.”

“Language!”

Conner was already out the door.

* * *

Conner did not arrive at school in time to review for English. Instead he barely arrived in time to avoid getting a late slip, and skidded into his class, wild eyed and frantic. The tweed adorned Mrs. Bruner did not look amused.

“You can take your seat, Mr. Kent.” Mrs. Bruner said over her bifocals.

Conner hunched in on himself and slithered between the desks towards the utterly beaming faces of Cassie, Bart, and Stephanie.

“Welcome back, Mr. Kent,” Bart said, golden eyes glowing with amusement, “your return to the land of rain and gargoyles was much anticipated.”

“How was Metropolis?” Cassie asked, leaning forward and ignoring Bart.

Conner slid into his seat and offered the trio his best “nothing’s wrong” smile. “Good. I hear you guys had quite a Saturday.”

From the way everyone traded looks and Stephanie turned pink Conner knew he would be getting an earful at lunch.

“Everyone, if I could have your attention!” Mrs. Bruner said at the front of the room, holding up a hardcover copy of _Heart of Darkness._ “Pop quiz.”

Conner considered the chances of survival if he threw himself out the window, but doing so would have required jumping over some hapless no-name and explaining to Clark why he felt the need to go and get hurt again. The image of Clark’s sad sap face gave him the strength to resist as he was handed a copy of the quiz which he was sure to fail.

Gotham had been nice while it lasted.

* * *

The thing that amazed Conner most about being back in Gotham was how easily he slipped right back into the spot he had left behind.

Somehow he had expected resistance. That he would return to find he no longer had a place at the lunch table, or that since the dance Stephanie or Bart would be acting differently. They didn’t. If Bart and Jaime had had some kind of...incident...nothing in how they behaved around each other indicated it. And Stephanie had practically dragged Conner to their lunch table to ensure that he would sit next to her.

It was nice, and made Conner feel like maybe he had missed out his freshman and sophomore years back when he had been more concerned with causing trouble than making friends his age.

“You’re going to have to tell us about the big city,” Stephanie said as they slid into their seats.

Conner rolled his eyes. “You _live_ in a big city.”

“It’s not the same,” Bart said from beside Jaime. “Being from Gotham is like...yeah it’s a city. But like, a Gothamite wears boots and wants to fight you all the time.”

“Less a city, more of a crime den.”

“Like if instead of having an inner city, the _entire_ city is an inner city.”

As Conner’s friends started to devolve into one upmanship over how terrible Gotham was, Conner turned around to see if he could find a familiar set of raven haired collectible children.

Jason waved from where his family had stepped into the cafeteria. Even from across the room Conner could see a deep black bruise under his eye. It did nothing to stop his shit eating grin as steel toed boots bounded towards them.

“Conner! How was Metropolis? You missed the real party.”

Jason didn’t pause to make niceties or ask if he was invited. He pulled up a chair with a resounded screech across the aluminum floor, and sat with his chin resting on the back. Blue eyes gazed up at Conner imploringly.

“It was so boring without you Conner.”

It did not escape Conner’s notice that quite a number of people in the area were staring. Jason had brought along Duke, Cass, and Tim, and all three looked uncomfortable at the sudden change in routine. Conner had to remind himself that despite Jason’s attitude, he was, technically, a minor celebrity, and this was a very public high school.

“I promise I’ll make it to the next one,” Conner said, hoping to send Jason off and avoid anymore attention seeking.

“So you’ll come with me to prom?”

Conner spluttered, and behind Jason, Tim coughed so hard Cass had to slap him on the back. It wasn’t the question, so much as the timing that threw Conner off, and he nodded.

“I...I guess?”

“Great. So what are you up to now that you’re back?”

Conner turned to the rest of the table to see if his so called friends would offer him aid in his time of need. Stephanie just snickered into her apple juice while Greta and Cassie pointedly looked anywhere BUT Conner. He wasn’t dumb enough to ask Bart for help, and so at last his eyes landed on Jaime.

Jaime, bless his soul, seemed two parts intimidated by Jason, one part panicked, and quickly blurted out. “We’re going to- we’ve been planning to study?”

Clearly Jaime was not so well versed in speaking to the Waynes. Jason’s eyes took on a predatory glint as he turned to Conner. He leaned forward in his chair, “Yeah? Whatchya studying for? Still English?”

“Yeah...definitely bombed a quiz earlier.”

“You _know_ ,” and the way Jason dragged the last part of the word out made Conner tense, “Tim is good at English. You guys are in the same grade. And he needs tutoring hours for the National Honor Society isn’t that right Tim?”

Tim stood stiff as a rod, and his eyes darted between his brother and Conner at record speeds.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I do.”

“Great!” Jason said, “Conner give me your phone.”

Conner was so far beyond fighting this anymore. He handed over his phone without question. Jason took it, tapped out something away from Conner’s eyesite, and handed it back.

“We’ll text you.” And with that Jason jumped up and the Waynes made their procession back to their usual table. As they went, Jason leaned over to whisper something in Tim’s ear, and the younger boy practically hit him before storming off.

Conner looked down at his phone. Jason had added himself under **Loverboy Jason.** He noticed that Tim’s number hadn’t been added, and suspected that would lead to trouble, but instead of questioning it he pocketed the device and turned back to his tater tots and soggy chicken.

“Dude,” Bart said.

“What?”

“I think Jason Wayne asked you to prom.”

* * *

It shouldn’t have surprised Conner that the anticipation before chem class was brutal. He found himself counting the minutes to the bell even as Stephanie tried to tell him about her plans with Cass.

When lunch finally did end, Conner had to hold himself back. It wasn’t excitement. If anything he wanted to find the point farthest from the classroom and hide there until the day was over. But the idea of failing in yet another class haunted him, and he shuffled after Bart on his way to class and resolved to not bother Tim to the best of his ability.

Not that Tim had earned it, but Conner felt...tired. And worn. And like maybe it was a bit unfair that world repeatedly seemed to be pushing him around. He didn’t ask for much and he didn’t want much. And why did school matter so much anyways? What would Lex care if he fell off the face of the planet and became a hobo?

To Conner’s ever growing surprise Tim managed to be nothing but civil as he took his seat. Ms. Isley assigned them book work for the day, promising to review homework and lecture tomorrow. Conner felt grateful for the break. He hadn’t gotten much sleep on the train back to Gotham and he couldn’t guarantee a lab wouldn’t end in the school on fire.

He went a whole twenty minutes thinking that everything in class was going absolutely swimmingly when-

“That’s wrong.”

Tim had, at some point that Conner’s sleep deprived brain hadn’t noticed, leaned over so far his face nearly jabbed into Conner’s pencil.

“Can I help you?” he asked the nosy, intrusive, no good-

“That’s wrong,” Tim said again, voice flat. “So’s number eight.”

“I don’t remember asking you.”

Without a word Tim took his own pen and scribbled over Conner’s work.

“Hey!”

“I’m trying to help-!”

“Boys.” One warning look from Ms. Isley was enough to make them both freeze. “I’d hate to give you both demerits. Conner you already have one from the broken beaker last week.”

Quietly, Conner scooted away from Tim’s nosy self. He stuck out his tongue and Tim frowned.

When Ms. Isley seemed sufficiently distracted Tim leaned over and whispered. “I was _trying_ to help.”

“I don’t need you to tell me I’m stupid ok?”

“That’s not what I _said-_ ”

“Demerits. Mr. Wayne. Mr. Kent. Don’t make me tell you again.”

Conner groaned and put his head down on his desk to better avoid having to have any kind of interaction with Tim. Stupid probably-a-vampire asshole.

* * *

Tim shook him awake, and when Conner raised his head, he found himself staring into ruby red eyes. For a long, painfully aware moment, Conner could swear he could hear his heartbeat. Tim smiled.

“Something the matter, Conner?”

He opened his mouth and no words came out. He tried again, only to realize it wasn’t that he wasn’t speaking, but that the sound vanished before it could leave his throat, like the room ate up his voice. Conner flailed a little, trying to get Tim to understand.

“Don’t worry,” Tim cooed, and he grinned, white fangs jutting out over his lips delicately, “It won’t be long now.”

“-Conner?”

Conner jolted awake. Bart looked at him, then back at the door where the rest of the class hurried to squeeze out of the room before Ms. Isely could assign homework.

“You got a demerit.” Bart said. “Lunch detention Friday.”

“Great.”

Conner packed his books and notebook away.

“Are you ok?” Bart asked.

Conner tried for any easygoing smile. He failed, if Bart’s wince was anything to go by.

* * *

In gym Conner’s focus was all over the place. The coach had declared it a free day, and set up dodgeball. He apparently thought this was supposed to be a great thing, but besides Bart everyone seemed to mostly agree dodge ball was a terrible ordeal. The girls lined the gym walls, gossiping, while the one or two jocks in class made a game of hurling the rubber balls at each other as hard as they could.

Still feeling out of it, Conner drifted over to the coach, who seemed to be filling out paperwork.

Conner had never paid much attention to his gym teacher. Coach Scott looked like former military, and despite being a football coach, never went too hard on his PE classes. He had once joined them all in a basketball scrimmage, but otherwise Conner knew next to nothing about him. He approached the man cautiously, leaving Bart to fend for himself on the floor.

“Uh, Coach Scott?”

“What can I do for you Conner?” The middle aged man looked up from the clipboard, pen hovering.

At least he seemed to give Conner the time of day, which was more than he could say for his other teachers.

“I was wondering. How would I try out for the football team? If I was interested, I mean.”

At that, Coach Scott gave a truly perplexed look. He capped his pen and hung his clipboard from a hook on the wall by the door.

“You planning on trying out?” He asked. He didn’t sound incredulous or accusatory, so Conner risked nodding.

Coach Scott looked him up and down, like he was sizing him up. “Mind if I ask why? You got a real passion for the sport or something?”

“Ah. Not really sir.” When Coach Scott made no move to speak Conner felt the need to justify himself slightly. “It’s just, I never tried team sports, and my dad keeps saying I might be good at it so I thought...is this a bad idea?”

It wasn’t a total lie, and Coach Scott seemed to be seriously considering his words. “Tell you what. We have practice Monday through Thursday from the final bell till 5PM. Can you make that practice time?”

“Yes?”

“Come by then. Can’t put you on the team, exactly, but if it’s something you really want to learn, you’ve certainly got the build for it. And you participate in class, and you don’t give me a hard time. If I can do something for you, I will, alright? But don’t expect anything. Certainly nothing more than JV.”

“Of course!” Conner nodded his head, kinda numb. Somehow he’d thought that would have been more difficult.

Lex would be proud.

* * *

As the final bell rang and Conner made the trek from school to the bus stop, his usual routine was interrupted by none other than Stephanie Brown, who spotted him outside the front gates of the school, and ducked away from the group of unfamiliar girls she had been talking to.

“Hey! Kent!”

Conner slowed down and waited for her to catch up.

“Taking the bus?” She asked.

“I think I’ll walk today, if you’re planning to come.”

Stephanie grinned at him. “Well now that you mention it, sure I’d love to come over.”

“I didn’t invite you over-”

“Dinner too? Why Mr. Kent you spoil me.”

Conner grumbled but couldn’t hide his grin, and the two quickly let the school disappear behind them into the Gotham jungle.

“Any reason you’re inviting yourself over today, or am I just lucky?”

“You are blessed, Conner Kent,” Stephanie paused to make a face as they passed streets piled with trash and turned a corner. “But actually, I wanted to make sure you were ok. You seem out of it.”

Conner chewed his lip and tried to figure out where on the spectrum of liar he wanted to fall today. Before he could damn himself, however, Stephanie turned to look at him.

“So were you visiting Lex?”

Welp. There was no lying _now_. “That obvious?”

“I mean, no offense but, you’re a bad liar, you’re loaded, and-” she made a sort of grabby motion in the air while her face twisted up in the picture of frustration. Her thumbs stuck through holes in her worn out hoodie and she grimmaced. “-I guess as silly and stupid and fairytale like the idea of you being...well. Call me stupid but I’m inclined to believe you.”

“Stupid.”

She thwapped him on the arm. “What would your dad say, he saw you treating a girl like that?”

“Which one?”

She cackled. “Alright so tell me, Mr. Luthor, what’s the deal with that? Is Lex Clark’s surgar daddy?”

For a horrifying, heart stopping moment, Conner had a clear image of Clark and Lex and one of those crazy horrible sugar daddy apps. Then the concept of Clark _calling_ Lex ‘daddy’ crossed his mind and it broke him entirely.

“If you _ever_ say something like that again this friendship is over.”

“Touchy,” Stephanie said, looking miffed, “You don’t have to tell me, I was just asking.”

Conner was going to have to dunk his head in bleach at home. He sighed, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and studied the lines of the pavement as they walked. It was always easier to say these things when he wasn’t forced to face someone’s eyes.

“As far as I know, Clark had me in high school. Accident or whatever. And Lex offered to adopt and pay off all the doctors and the girl’s family or whatever. I don’t know the details but Clark hates talking about it. Said it was needlessly messy. I never knew my mother, I just know she’s from Smallville.”

“All my life, the only family I remember is Lex and Clark. When I was really young Clark used to be around all the time. Him and Lex were super close. I think everything might have been good. But it was a long time ago. Clark…”

"Clark wanted a different life. I guess. Lex is difficult and he didn’t make raising me easy. I didn’t go to public school till I was twelve. I used to have to do a bunch of weird like, private lessons and stuff. I didn’t know a kid my age until I was much older. Actually you guys are my first high school friends.”

“Really?” Stephanie asked. “I’m honored.”

Conner grinned. “Yeah well. Lex Luthor sucks.”

“Down with the rich?”

“Come on, revolutionary, we’re here.”

Conner lead Stephanie up the rickety stairs to his second floor apartment. His neighbors started a screaming match as he closed the door behind them.

Stephanie took a look around the squarish living room, with a kitchen table shoved up between the couch and the kitchen counter so you couldn’t squeeze past, the ceiling that sloped so that Clark always had to duck on his way by the TV, and the dark hallway that lead to the bedroom, the giant closet that passed for Conner’s room, and the pantry that passed for the bathroom.

“That TV looks ancient.”

“Clark is a dinosaur.”

Stephanie dropped her backpack and took a running leap at the couch. She hit the old, faded monster causing it to skid across the old wood floors.

“Hey!” a muffled voice from below shouted, “Keep it the fuck down.”

Stephanie laughed. “I love it.”

“Good,” Conner said, taking his seat beside her much more carefully, “Now, tell me about this date with Cassandra Wayne.”

* * *

Clark was predictably delighted to have Stephanie over for dinner. He made her stay while he made a homemade egg and cabbage soup, and spent the entire time pleasantly asking her questions.

Stephanie gushed about her date Friday with Cass, and Clark offered to give her and Cass a ride to Freddy’s. Conner watched Stephanie visibly fall more in love with Clark.

By the time it was dark outside, Clark was offering to take her home and sending Conner to his room.

“You need your sleep young man. You were up far too late last night.”

Conner begrudgingly said his goodbyes and trudged to his room. He showered, feeling oddly relaxed as he let the hot water spray work knots out of his back. Slipping into flannel PJs (he was turning into Clark by the day and it horrified him) he turned on the desk lamp in his room and dug his overnight bag out from under his bed.

It took him a minute to find it, and for a heart stopping second he thought he lost it, but he pulled out the letter Lois had given him at the gala and turned it over in his hands.

At least he assumed it was a letter. The neat white envelope had Lois’ curly script on the front.

‘Clark’.

Conner hesitated.

He checked his phone. He still had time before Clark got back.

He opened the letter, carefully. He’d never be able to reseal it, of course, and he knew perhaps it was wrong but-

He freed a couple pages of printer paper from the envelope, and a stray photo floated to the ground. He turned over the papers in his hand quickly. It was a typed out letter, addressed to Clark, and too many paragraphs for Conner to scan it quickly.

He grabbed the fallen photo from off the floor and froze.

Staring up at him was a boy in a soccer uniform. He had gapped tooth grin, and stared up at the camera with big, baby blue eyes. He couldn’t be older than ten.

He was a spitting image of Clark.

Conner felt his heart stop.

A quick scan of the letter revealed the boy was named Jonathan. He was 9. Lois was very sorry for not telling him but she felt it was for the best…

Conner balled up the letter, took the photo, and placed it in the back of his copy of _Heart of Darkness_ just as he heard the door open. He clicked off the light, and listened as Clark’s footsteps passed by. He paused by Conner’s door.

“Conner?”

“I’m trying to sleep Clark.”

Clark chuckled. “All right. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Conner waited until he heard Clark’s bedroom door close before he truly started to panic.

When did this shit start getting complicated?

* * *

**OUTTAKE:**

As they walked away from the nerd table, Jason leaned over to whisper into Tim’s ear.

“Don’t ever say I didn’t do anything for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM. This will probably be typo ridden, sorry. Will go through and edit but I wanted to leave you guys with something more to read while you wait on the next update.
> 
> XOXOX- Kimi


	11. Extracurriculars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner takes Jason up on that whole tutoring thing. Mostly because he desperately needs it.

The week flew by without incident. At least externally. Conner meanwhile internally waged war on himself. He still hadn’t told Clark about his other kid.

What would that do to him? Conner could only guess. Lois had been important enough to Clark that when he left Metropolis he pretty much begged her to come with him. And Lois had said no. Did she know then that she was pregnant? And not telling Clark...it was bad enough Clark had to deal with Conner, the ultimate regret of his high school career, but now he had another kid out of wedlock who he hadn’t even known about. Clark maybe wasn’t exactly winning in the date department. As far as Conner knew there weren’t any girlfriends or boyfriends who weren’t Lex or Lois. That said, Clark’s easygoing, let-me-fix-that-for-you, breakfast in bed attitude was obviously meant for marriage. If there was a poster boy for stable husband material Clark was it.

So why did assholes like Lane and Luthor happen?

It wasn’t fair, and Conner knew he wasn’t being fair by hiding it but he wasn’t stupid. If Clark found out about Jon he’d drop everything to go be with his new family. That was the kind of guy Clark was. And that would leave Conner with no place to stay in Gotham and a one way ticket back to Metropolis. If his visit to Lex had proven anything it was that nothing had changed and he’d rather die than go back to how things were.

He could always go on the run again, he supposed. Maybe head back to Hawaii. Sure he had some dark shit there he’d rather leave behind but by the same token anything would be better than Lex Luthor. Conner’s friends, though he loved them, lived in a world of their own, for all they noticed his panic in the following days. He tried not to fault them for it.

* * *

About halfway through the week Cassie walked up to the lunch table with a beautiful blonde girl in tow and a bashful look on her face. The tall, regal blonde stood behind Cassie like the tomboyish girl was somehow protecting her. Cassie presented her new friend to the table.

“Guys, you all know Cissie?”

Yes. They all knew Cissie King-Jones. In the stark silence that followed Cassie gestured for the Homecoming Queen, to take a seat. She did, hesitantly, a chair down from Conner and next to Bart. Cassie sat across from her.

Stephanie, reached across the table offering her hand, “I’m Stephanie Brown. We’ve been in English class together since, like, eighth grade-”

“You don’t need to patronize me,” Cissie said, but she shook Stephanie’s hand anyways.

“She’s going to sit with us from now on,” Cassie told the rest of the table, and wisely no one said anything. Conner tried to finish the chemistry homework he had started maybe a day too late, and if anyone noticed he was quieter than usual he didn’t care.

* * *

The only thing that kept Conner from maybe completely collapsing in on himself under the weight of his newfound secret was football practice.

Everyday after school, when the sun beat down on the astro turf, Conner donned gym clothes and awkwardly hung out with the JV football team. The boys, with their freshman and sophomore baby faces and full gear, mostly ignored Conner as he drilled beside them with Coach Scott’s oversight.

At first he burned his hands against the astroturf during drills, before Coach Scott pulled him aside and told him which shoes and gloves he would need to buy in the coming weeks to keep from getting injured.

Burpees, tire drills, Conner did anything that wasn’t directly playing football, and when the team ran practice scrimmages, Conner sat on the bleachers with Scott and did his homework.

“You’ve been coming out every day,” Scott said by Friday, glaring out at the sun and field from under the dorky looking visor every gym teacher seemed to wear.

“That’s what you said to do,” Conner paused mid chem homework. He hadn’t managed to talk to anyone on the team. He hadn’t really tried either. On the field half the team wore dirty red scrimmage vests for practice, and the gleaming blue and white colors of the schools were nearly worn out of their practice jerseys.

“You’re a Junior, right?” Scott asked.

“Yessir.”

Scott nodded. “I surprised you haven’t tried out before. You keep up well.”

Conner bit back a comment about his less than thrilling attendance record in Hawaii. Scott fell silent and Conner waited awkwardly for the middle aged man to get to the point.

“The JV team is very good this year,” Scott said. Whatever he was getting at, the point was lost as at the far end of the field a pack of monstrously sized seniors started piling onto the green. Scott sighed.

“Time to section the field off,” he grumbled, pulled down his visor, and jumped off the bleachers with a thump to go corner and talk with the Varsity Football Coach.

As the players started lining up and the coaches argued on the sidelines, Conner noted one of the players making his way towards him. For a minute he looked around to see who the kid possibly intended to talk to, only to realize he was the only one on the bleachers.

A dark haired, dark skinned boy with a warm smile and hesitancy in his step walked up to Conner.

“Hi.”

Conner waited.

The boy shifted awkwardly under his padding, helmet clutched under one arm. “You’re friends with Cissie right?”

“Friends is a very strong word.”

“Oh. Well. Tell her I’m sorry, I guess.”

Conner stared like an idiot for a minute before the pieces started clicking into place. “Oh. You’re Jackson.”

Jackson Hyde nodded, looking anywhere but Conner, before he stuttered an awkward, “well, see ya,” and jogging back to his team. Conner really wished the high school drama would take a back seat for a little while. He could use the break. He resolved to tell Cissie nothing.

* * *

Conner thought, perhaps, if he glared at the dusty brownish-green sloped ceiling of his bedroom, he could turn back time and undo his last two weeks of existence. Go back to a simpler time, when, perhaps, people weren’t quite so irritating.

Instead he let his thoughts turn to more bittersweet things. Tana Moon, with her hair up, trying to teach him to surf his first summer in Hawaii, Roxy hollering on the beach as he tumbled face first into salt and grime, eyes stinging, over and over.

Barbeques by their small cabin. Rex scratching lotto tickets in the dim light of their fire pit after an ill-gotten paycheck, waving them around excitedly each time saying “this is the one!”.

Conner couldn’t say when the memories slipped into the fractured, incongruous images of his dreams, but he could hear the sound of the surf, even as a younger version of him, too young to be living in Hawaii yet, laughed playing games in the ocean with Kay and Tana.

* * *

Conner awoke to three text notifications.

**USPS: Your package has been delivered! 8:15 EST**

**Roxy: [img0001]**

**Loverboy Jason: Tutoring starts at 10AM sharp Mr. Kent.**

Conner allowed himself a moment to scowl, and be upset with the world. Mornings were terrible, and it was already 9:30. He had no interest in being anywhere that wasn’t his bed. Jason could shove off.

Roxy’s picture was of her and Kyle posing in front of an art museum and generally looking stupid. He saved it to his phone.

He stumbled out of his room, hissing as his feet hit the cold floor, and called down the hall where he could hear Clark moving about.

“Did something show up in the mail?”

“You’d best take a look for yourself.”

Conner, curiosity outweighing morning grogginess, entered the kitchen. Clark sat at the kitchen table, reading the paper, glasses comically balanced on the end of his nose. His coffee still steamed.

“BLTs this morning,” Clark told him, then used half his sandwich to gesture at the front door, “What on earth did you order?”

Conner grinned when he saw the package. It stood nearly as tall as himself, and made the small apartment seem even more cramped. In big loopy handwriting on the front it spelled his name and home address. FRAGILE was stamped across the thin package in all red.

“You’re going to love it,” he told Clark.

* * *

Clark inspected the painting carefully. Conner’s bedroom ceiling had been too low, so the six foot tall monstrosity had to be taken into the living room and mounted behind the TV.

“He really has quite a delicate hand,” Clark said, leaning in close and inspecting the brushwork along the lower left leg of the mech.

Conner couldn’t tell if Clark was being serious, or humoring him. Regardless he took a selfie and sent it Roxy, with Clark looming over the painting in the background.

**Jason: Chop Chop pretty boy. Wayne manor at 10 sharp. You know where that is, don’t you?**

Seeing his message notifications again, he sighed. One the one hand, Jason was an ass. On the other hand he was failing three classes. Luthor or Tim? It was a much easier choice when he thought of it like that. Maybe some of Tim’s weird anal retentive organization would rub off on him.

“Hey, Clark, can I get a ride to Wayne Manor? Tim Wayne said he’d help me study for English.”

Clark nearly choked on air, which was a feat and something Conner thought was rather odd, but the older man smiled, pushed up his glasses and said, “Sure, I’d love to. Been meaning to stop by and talk with Bruce.”

Conner recalled the refined man with the cigarette on the balcony of Lex’s private dining room and felt a shadow of a smile surface. “Right. Well. Let me grab my homework.”

* * *

The Wayne Manor was something out of an old movie. Sitting high on a hill overlooking Gotham, each corner of the house held up a stone gargoyle with a gaping maw and dark eyes. The windows were all small, with white trim, and the structure gave the overwhelming impression of someone glaring coldly from under a pointy had. The driveway had been gated, but as Clark’s clunker rolled up to it, the wrought iron creaked open automatically and they were able to make their way up the winding gravel drive.

“This house is fucking huge,” Conner said, feeling every bit of good will earned by Jason vanish as he thought of his own, crowded room. He couldn’t even lean back in his desk chair without hitting the bed.

“It’s been in the family for generations,” Clark said, sunny as usual despite their surroundings, “Bruce refuses to give it up.”

For one, brief moment, Conner thought of Ms. Havisham from _Great Expectations,_ the latest English torture book they were reading. Unfortunately it triggered the thought of Bruce in an ancient wedding dress and so he quashed that thought, and all thoughts of English class, quickly.

They pulled up right outside the house, and a tall, thin man, balding with a neatly trimmed grey mustache emerged. Conner had to do a double take because the man was wearing a full on three piece suit with a tailcoat and white gloves.

“What century is this?”

“Don’t be rude, Conner,” Clark give him his best admonishing glare (it was half-hearted) and got out of the car.

“Master Kent. Young Master Kent,” the man said in a lilting British accent, “What an unexpected visit. Master Wayne is out for the afternoon, I hope you understand.”

Conner decided if the Waynes really were vampires, they were doing a piss poor job of hiding it.

“That’s quite alright Alfred,” Clark said, “I know he’s busy. Conner is here to see one of the boys about schoolwork.”

Alfred took a long look at Conner, and even from the porch, Conner could feel the man making snap judgement about him. Probably accurate ones too. He wanted to kick himself for having worn Jason’s jacket today.

If Alfred saw anything he didn’t like, he didn’t say, just straightened up, and stiffly gestured for them to follow him inside. Conner averted his gaze as he passed. Alfred had eyes like a hawk.

The inside of the Wayne Manor was every bit as gothic as the exterior. Long dark stained wood floors, furniture that all looked like it could be found in an antique store. The age of the place was made even more apparent by the cramped size of the rooms and uneven doorways. Alfred led them through several to a sitting room with some dark green upholstered chairs and a fireplace.

“Wait here, I’ll go fetch Jason.” he sent a meaningful look at Conner. “If you need anything, please just ask,”

Clark took a seat as easily as if it were his own apartment and waved Alfred off, “You know me Alfred. I’ll just get some work done while I wait for Bruce to come back.”

Alfred finally cracked a smile, warmth seeping into his carefully composed mask of politeness. “Absolutely, Master Kent. You know how to reach me.”

He glided out of the room with an unnatural grace, not even faltering over the uneven floors, and vanished down the hall.

“Come here often, do you?” Conner said playfully, taking his own seat across from Clark.

“Oh yes, all the time. Bruce requested a piece a while back to help get his new art grant program off the ground. And obviously there’s the _other_ piece which is still under wraps until I get the Gazette to publish it.”

Conner sighed. Clark was no fun.

Alfred reappeared with a suddenness that reinforced the vampire theory. He gave a curt nod, “Young Master Kent, Young Master Todd-”

Jason Todd barreled into the room, pulling Conner out of his chair, and generally looking like the opposite of the kindly butler with his biker coat and slicked up hair.

“Thanks, Alfred, you’re the best,”

And that was all the warning Conner received before being dragged down the hallway into the labyrinth of the Wayne Manor.

“You didn’t have to pull,” Conner pouted, when Jason slowed down enough for conversation to be reasonable. And when Alfred was far, far out of sight.

“You’re late,” Jason said. He still wore a crooked grin and hadn’t let go of Conner’s arm, so Conner suspected he was forgiven, “It’s 10:30 Kent, what were you thinking?”

“Not my fault you live on the far side of Gotham. How do you even go to our school? You’re way out of zone.”

“Yes because school zoning is a huge issue for the Waynes.”

Conner rolled his eyes. By this point  he could not track the number of turns they had taken, or the number of rooms they had passed. The house truly was huge. Unfortunately, perhaps because the windows were so small, very little light seemed to make it to the innermost parts of the house, and Conner found they walked in half darkness most of the way to their destination. Despite his better senses telling him to drop it, he could hear Maps in his head enthusing about how the Waynes were totally vampires.

“You live like bats,” Conner said, as he tripped over something in the dark.

Jason cackled. “Man you have no _idea_.”

Conner felt more vindicated in his vampire theory with every moment he spent with these lunatics.

At last Jason led him to a long hallway, with brass light fixtures, and a rug that looked like it hadn’t seen daylight in years.

“Third door on your left,” Jason said.

Without really thinking about it, or why Jason would do the things he did, Conner walked forward three doors, grabbed the brassy doorknob, and found it locked. When he turned to ask Jason what was up, the boy was gone.

Knowing that what lay beyond could not possibly be good, but not knowing how to get back to Clark from here and beg to be taken home, Conner raised a fist, took a deep breath, and knocked three times.

Silence. Conner leaned closer to the redwood door. He thought he heard _someone-_

The door swung open.

“Jason, I swear to god, if you woke me up to…” Tim trailed off.

Tim did not look good, to put things kindly. Pale, sallow skin looked worse in the crappy yellow light from the hallway. Dark shadows under his eyes and a purpling bruise poking out of his t-shirt collar made him look even more like he was wasting away. Conner could see the the sharp jutting of his collar bone, his elbows, and he suspected if he lifted his shirt he'd be able to count Tim's ribs through the skin.

Tim let out a string of curses, some of which Conner had never heard before, and slammed the door. Conner sighed. Somehow he felt he should have expected this. Almost 11AM. He had a test on Wednesday and he hadn’t started studying. Instead he was putting up with Jason’s pranks and-

The door swung open again. The supernatural speed with which Tim gotten ready did nothing to improve his complexion, but he looked surprisingly less dead in an over-sized red turtleneck and black jeans. His hair still looked like he just got out of bed, but otherwise nothing seemed odd.

“Conner. Come in.” He said it with such stiffness Conner considered leaving immediately. But Tim stepped aside, and with nothing to lose, Conner stepped inside.

Tim’s room was exactly what Conner thought Tim’s room would look like with one crucial exception. Spartan, with grey sheets, a modern queen sized bed, and a large, sleek black desk with two monitors. There was a sliding door closet, a standing full length mirror, and unlike the rest of the house, everything looked like it had been bought recently. The rug was even a bright white, with a modern abstract design across it. It was a surprisingly normal, if neat, room, and completely normal sized compared to Conner’s suite at Lex’s.

And across every available free space on the walls were pictures. Many black and white, some color, all large, and on glossy paper. Most of them, Conner realized, were of Officer Grayson or Jason or Bruce. A few of Cassandra, and the younger Waynes, Duke and Damian. There were group photos of what looked like the entire family out together. And one stunning portrait of Bruce with a woman Conner had never met dressed for a wedding. He hadn’t realized Bruce was married, and didn’t want to ask. The pictures sort of killed the idea of vampires. Vampires didn’t show up in photos as far as Conner knew, but seeing that Tim had some human emotions under his bad attitude was nice.

“Sorry about Jason,” Tim mumbled, and apparently realizing he only had one desk and one desk chair, he grabbed his book bag and took a seat on his still unmade bed. “You can take the desk.”

Conner hesitantly took a seat, pulling out his copies of _Wuthering Heights, Heart of Darkness, Great Expectations,_ and their midterm study guide. Tim had his own copies spread out on his bed, pristine and probably not public school issued. However they were bookmarked like mad, with colored sticky notes sticking out of every conceivable corner. A notebook labeled in black sharpie and the study guide were also laid out.

Tim got comfortable, stacking pillows, and leaning against the headboard. He flipped open his notebook and looked over at Conner. “So, what exactly are you having problems with?”

Conner cringed, and, looking down at his books, felt the urge to curl up and go home. He could study on his own without Tim’s withering comments and know it all attitude.

“Conner,” Tim said.

Conner shrugged, “Everything I guess.”

Tim made a disgruntled sound and shifted on the bed. “Ok, the test is multiple question, two short answer, and an essay, which one are you most worried about?”

Conner frowned at his hands instead of looking at Tim. “I said everything, didn’t I?”

“Do you have any of your old tests, maybe we could review that?”

Conner felt his heart sink a little more. As if the day could get more unbearable. “I threw them away.”

Tim sighed and Conner looked up to catch sight of a fuming face. “Look, if you don’t want my help fine. I don’t even know why you’re here if you hate me so much.”

“Jason invited me,” Conner spat out without giving it much thought.

The storm over Tim’s face darkened considerably as thin delicate lips pulled into a scowl so severe for a minute Tim looked scary. “Oh yes. Jason. How could I forget? He’s great isn’t he?”

“What’s your problem with him?” Conner asked, feeling defensive of his friend, inconvenient though he could be.

“I don’t have a problem with him. He’s _fine._ ”

“Well you sound like you have a problem.”

“Why are you defending him?” Tim yelled and threw down his English notebook. “If you like him so much you can study with _him_.”

Generally speaking Conner was an incredibly impulsive boy. Every relationship he’d ever had had been him nose diving into the deep end before he could even tread water. And he didn’t always start his fights, but he certainly finished them, whether or not they warranted it.

Maybe it was Clark’s good influence. Or maybe fate was being kind, but all of a sudden the building heat in his chest slammed out of him, replaced by an odd cool, that tinted the world blueish gray and when he looked at Tim, he saw a very tired boy in too big clothes in a too empty room. He could almost, if he squinted and thought about things a little differently, see what it might be like to be in Tim’s shoes. Rich, with siblings who weren’t always tactful, and a dad who traveled, and a butler and room with nothing to indicate a teenage boy lived there.

With pictures of his family all over the wall.

Tim must have seen the fight go out of Conner because his features softened momentarily.

“Conner?”

Conner sat back in his chair, a big lump of tired himself. “Idon’tknowanythingI’msorrythebooksarestupid.”

His words slurred together as he mumbled into the collar of his coat.

“Excuse me?” said Tim, but he looked far more approachable now that his face wasn’t contorted in a scowl.

Conner lifted his head and spoke clearly. “Books. Are stupid. I hate this class I’ve failed every test since I got here.”

Tim took in all this information with the face of someone looking at an unwieldy puzzle. As though he thought, if he looked at Conner hard enough, the answers would appear in the air between them. Conner momentarily felt reminded of a detective show he once saw before the spell broke and Tim scowled at him and dug through his notebook.

“Lucky for you I save all my quizzes and tests.”

“Yay me.”

Tim glared, and Conner reluctantly acquiesced when Tim gestured for him to come look over last week's quiz together.

* * *

“I just think it’s dumb is all,” Conner said from the floor. From his vantage point with his head against the bed he could just see the tips of Tim’s wild hair as the other boy reshuffled some papers.

“What’s dumb?” Tim asked sounding distracted.

“The entire book.”

Tim’s head popped out from over the edge of the bed. “You know this is all a lot easier if you stop treating everything like it’s stupid.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t.”

“Stupid or not, you have to learn it.” Tim disappeared from view again and Conner sat up and joined him on the bed. He took up his seat at the far end away from Tim. Though both boys’ moods had improved considerably since the morning Conner did not want to get in striking range on the off chance Tim was faking.

Tim had a stack of quizzes and essays they had reviewed together in one pile and in another the ones they still had left to cover. What had started with awkward, stilted conversation and Tim trying to explain to Conner what an extended metaphor was, had evolved into something closer to their chem class relationship. Tim did all the work, keeping careful note of where Conner missed answers and what points he was weak on, and Conner sat back and let him.

“We haven’t even touched _Great Expectations_ and that’s probably going to be the one on the test the most.” Tim frowned at the paper he was holding. “What was I thinking? Jesus it’s already one.”

“It’s fine,” Conner said, “I wouldn’t have studied at all if I hadn't gotten help. Something’s better than nothing.”

“You barely could wrap your head around the light/dark symbolism in _Heart of Darkness_ and that’s like...most of the book.”

Conner picked up the pillow nearest him and chucked it at Tim’s dumb head. Tim caught it with lightning fast reflexes and tossed it back, hitting Conner square in the face.

“You’re going to fail at this rate.” When Conner recovered from his pillow impact he looked over to see Tim still frowning at his notebooks, but the look on his face was quickly darkening. Tim started sifting through papers like he thought Conner’s falling GPA could be saved with enough old quiz review, and Conner took pity on him just the once.

“Hey,” he said, and moved over on the bed, well into risky hitting range. “Look, Tim, I appreciate all the help. It’s no one’s fault but my own that I didn’t get help earlier.” Feeling a little awkward about being so honest, Conner felt the need to add. “I never liked school anyways. It’s really not for me.”

Tim’s face fell further, which was the opposite effect Conner had been aiming for.

“You shouldn’t think so poorly of yourself,” Tim said.

Conner scowled. Somehow the _way_ Tim said things, even the well intentioned things, rubbed him wrong. It felt like Tim thought he knew Conner better than he did.

“I don’t. I’m great. I didn’t say that so you could lecture me about how all I have to do is believe in myself.”

Tim threw up his hands. “Ok! Seriously! Is there anything I can say that doesn’t piss you off? I was just trying to-”

Someone knocked on the door and they both jumped.

“Young Master Drake,” Alfred’s voice called through the door, “Lunch is ready.”

Tim sighed and closed his notebook, stuffing their papers between the pages. He turned to Conner.

“We’ll figure out what to do about your test later. Let’s not keep Alfred waiting.”

* * *

The place where the Wayne kids took their lunch looked suspiciously like a normal kitchen. Conner tried to piece together whether it was the actual kitchen of the house, or the dainty household kitchen. Maybe they had hidden their real, extra large mansion kitchen in the basement.

The kitchen had yellow walls, cheery tawny granite counter tops, and a giant bucket of a sink. The wall by the stove was brick, like someone had filled in what had once been a fireplace. In the center was an island, with several rustic bar stools. It was all very normal, maybe even quaint, compared to the shadowy decor of the rest of the house. A picture of the Wayne family, in black and white, sat in a rough looking wooden picture frame on the brick wall. All five Wayne children, Officer Grayson, and Bruce sat grinning by what looked like a pond.

On the island, already half gone, were two large pizzas. Conner checked for delivery boxes but found nothing. Tim grabbed a plate from a cabinet by the stove, and handed one to Conner. It took only one bite for Conner to be certain it wasn’t delivery.

“This is amazing.”

“Alfred’s an amazing cook.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask. You guys really have a butler? In the twenty-first century?”

Tim took a seat on the opposite side of the island. “He’s been with the family for years.”

“Ok. Not weird at all.”

Tim scowled, and Conner delighted in it. Likely lunch would have continued on its steady downward spiral had at that moment a delighted voice not said:

“Timothy Drake Wayne as I live and breathe… are you awake before noon?” Dick Grayson dressed in casual clothes stepped into the kitchen and made a big show of sniffing the the air. “Oh God Alfred’s cooking is heavenly. You locusts didn’t get it all did you? Oh good.”

Grayson took no notice of the way Tim had stiffened but Conner certainly did.

“Dick. What are you doing home? Don’t you have work?”

“No, no I'm off until tomorrow- Conner!” Grayson had leant over to get a slice of pizza off the counter and seemed to only just then notice that Conner was not one of the many other black haired blue eyed boys belonging to the Waynes. “How’s your head treating you?”

“Fine, Mr. Grayson.”

“Call me Dick, please.”

Conner bit down a lot of jokes, but did not miss the way Tim glared at him. He had a feeling Tim knew he was holding back. And that Tim knew Conner knew he knew. He sent the boy a sidelong grin.

“Of course, _Dick._ ”

“So what are you two up to?” Grayson took a seat next to Conner and up close Conner realized the man was actually a lot younger than he realized. The uniform added ten years. Certainly he was older than Conner and Tim but he struck Conner as not being much older than Roxy or maybe Tana.

“Studying for English,” Tim said curtly. And Conner didn’t know _why_ Tim was such a short tempered ass to his family. Jason was annoying, but honestly everyone Conner had spoken with outside of Tim had been decently nice. Maybe Tim just hated his family.

Dick paid it absolutely no mind. “That’s fantastic Tim. I’m so glad you’re making friends.”

“I have friends.”

“Stephanie doesn’t count.”

“Why _not?”_

Dick paused, wide eyed, and looked at Conner, then at Tim.

“Because she’s an ex?” Conner ventured a guess. Dick look relieved and nodded in agreement as Tim grumbled something about meddling no good brothers and ate in silence.

“So what about you Conner? What are you up to?” Dick asked, turning the full force of his warm, heart meltingly pleasant attention to his guest.

“Uh, I started working out with the football team…” Conner said, because despite the fact he had never shown interest in sports and didn’t like the team except for pleasing Lex, it was the first thing that popped into his head.

“Really? Football? That’s great.”

“Er, yeah,” Conner said, and didn’t correct him about how he wasn’t technically on the team.

“And how’s school?”

“I’m trying not to fail my classes. My dad told me I needed to get my grades in order,” Thinking of Lex made Conner falter, “start some extracurriculars, think about college…”

Dick nodded, taking a huge bite of pizza and talking around. “That’s very good. Especially at this grade. Hobby’s are great for college apps. I think Tim’s got his photography, right?”

Conner had seen Tim scowl a lot in the short time he had known him, so he expected fully to turn and see the very familiar twist in his features. Instead as he looked up from his dinner he saw Tim go bright red. On pale skin his blush stood out worse and despite the fact he still looked half dead and like he didn’t eat or sleep properly, the speed with which his hands snapped up to hide his face was criminally cute.

Conner could see an opportunity when it presented itself.

“Photography?” He asked, leaning over the table towards Tim, “Is that what all the pictures on the walls are about? Did you take those?”

“Oh yes! Isn’t he talented?” Dick said, clearly delighted to be able to brag about his little brother, “He’s been taking photos since he was...what, five?”

“Dick,” Tim pleaded quietly from behind his hands.

“And he’s gotten so much better recently! I’ve never seen anything like it. Sometimes I’ll walk into a room I think is empty and find him hiding in a corner or on top of some furniture trying to get an angle-”

“Dick, please-”

“One time I caught him on top of the fridge-”

“Please kill me.” Tim sunk further down in his seat.

“It’s adorable,” Dick finished.

Conner leaned over and said, “Aw, that's so cute.”

Tim went oddly still at that, and Conner made a mental note that maybe that was a line he shouldn’t cross too often if he wanted to live. He was not one-hundred percent certain yet that Tim wouldn’t kill him if he went too far.

“If you guys want to take a break from studying,” Dick said, ever the helpful and productive member of the conversation, “You should definitely check out Tim’s dark room and studio. It’s super cool even if you don’t like photography. And it would be a good break.”

“That sounds cool,” Conner said. He didn’t really think Tim was eager to take him on a tour of what was likely private work space but what Dick didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“That’s great. I’m so glad Tim’s finally making friends at school. You know you should take him to the dark room after lunch, Tim.”

And to Conner’s surprise Tim lifted his head just enough to look at Conner through his hands and said. “Ok.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, another chapter, hot out the oven. I have a job now??? So hopefully I can start being more regular with updates. I was like really poor for a hot second there guys. Bless my friend, ironically named Wayne, who stopped by the school's food pantry and picked up like, ALL the pasta. Also we're about half way through now, thank you for reading. I don't normally write such long form stuff so it can really be hard to figure out how to put everything together.
> 
> It occurred to me that this story is chock full of some comic book references, and I'm not actually sure what number of readers are on the up and up soooo.
> 
> Jackson Hyde technically is Kaldur'ahm in comics though he never goes by Jackson in the Young Justice cartoon as far as I know. If it wasn't already obvious, Kyle is Kyle Rayner the green lantern and Coach Scott is alan scott...also green lantern. Chemistry is taught by poison Ivy. Ironically the English teacher is not based on anyone because I panicked.
> 
> Greta and Cissie King-Jones are both from the original Young Justice Comic run.
> 
> And finally Tana Moon, Kay, Roxy, and Rex are all from the Superboy solo. 90% of the characters being pulled are from either Superboy, Impulse, Robin, Young Justice, or Blue Beetle because those are the comics I read way back when.
> 
> Also I would Highly HIGHLY recommend reading the 90s superboy run it's fucking hilarious. Impulse is also actually a rather touching series about a boy and his grumpy adopted time travelling dad.


	12. Dark Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Conner take a much needed study break, at the same time Conner's social circle decides to implode.

Tim’s studio was larger than his bedroom. This did not surprise Conner, as Tim seemed like the kind of person who valued their work over their sleep. It was located not too far from the kitchen, in a hall all of its own, and when the door was opened into the room the first thing he noticed was the chemical smell in the air.

The first room looked more like an office than anything else, with a long light table on one side, and a paper cutter on the other. There was a black cabinet with a glass front and some dials, scissors and small strips of paper and film everywhere. The walls were decorated with photos of various shapes and sizes.

Tim stood awkwardly by the door. He had been quiet since leaving the kitchen, and had let Conner into the room only to stand back and watch as he walked around, inspecting the place. There was a door to the left, currently open, out of which spilled red light and another door, probably for a closet, on the other side of the room.

“I do most of the cutting and drying out here,” Tim said, when Conner turned to look at him after having looked at the rest of the room. Tim then nodded to the closet door on the right. “You have to open film in total darkness, so I use the closet for that. That room over there is the dark room.”

“I kinda thought it would all be one room,” Conner admitted.

Instead of telling him he was stupid Tim shifted awkwardly. “It’s a little large. Back at my old house I just used black out curtains in my bedroom…”

Conner paused. “Your old house?”

Tim hesitated. He didn’t seem embarrassed, but he did take his time formulating his next sentence.

“I used to live with my parents. My dad died when I was sixteen. Bruce was a family friend so he sort of just, naturally, took me in.” Tim didn’t look like he wanted to say much more, and looked at the ground instead of Conner.

Conner couldn’t be sure, but he thought maybe some of Tim’s snippiness was just that he wasn’t completely fluent in Tim yet. And that ‘When I was sixteen’ was a really fancy way for Tim to say last year. Conner had his issues with most of his appointed guardians but the thought of something happening to any of them still made him feel cold.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He thought that was the thing you were supposed to say. “Were you close?”

Tim shrugged, doing his best to look unaffected but it didn’t work. “Yeah. But only in the last couple of years we...things weren’t so great before that. After my mom died we...got closer.”

Tim’s voice wavered, and Conner knew how bad platitudes could sound. Instead he did the most graceful, tactful, thing he could think of, and pointing at the nearest thing to him, the cabinet asked, “So how does that work?”

Tim jumped on the opportunity to dive back into well charted waters.

“Oh, that’s a dryer. I have to hang the film to dry.”

“Isn’t it bad for this stuff to get wet?” Conner asked. Tim ignored him and strode across the room. He gestured for Conner to stand aside and opened the cabinet. Immediately Conner felt a soft wave of warmth, and Tim reached in to unclip a strip of film hanging from the cabinet ceiling. He held it up to the light for Conner.

“I forgot I left this in here.”

“Is it all right?”

“It’s fine, there’s a timer.”

“So how do you print the pictures then?” Conner asked. He’d never seen film outside of cheap disposable cameras sold at tourist traps. He had some vague idea of there being a dark room where a man in a coat had to wait a long time for pictures to emerge from a blank page.

“Well,” Tim said, moving to the light table. He laid the strip out and turned it on. With light illuminating the strip from behind Conner could make out shadows of images in each small panel. “Which one do you want me to print?”

Tim’s voice hadn’t changed. He still sounded like the uptight rich kid Conner had known from every Chem class since September. But for the first time Conner realized his tone stemmed from a place of intense seriousness. Brow creased as he stared down at his film, face washed out by the glow of the light table, Tim wasn’t angry, or judging, or even trying to be uptight. He just approached everything, even his hobbies, with levity Conner had never seen. Not from anyone he had ever known, at least.

Tim didn’t notice Conner had fallen silent, and likely, Conner concluded, wouldn’t notice if the entire world exploded around him if he was working on something. And Conner could only imagine the surliness if he was disturbed during work. It explained a lot about his attitude in school.

Realizing he still hadn’t picked something, Conner leaned over the light table. He found he had to squint to make out what things were supposed to be. He could tell many of them had to be buildings. Part of him wondered if Tim wasn’t scaling a building for the very purpose of photography that week he’d dropped out of the sky on top of Conner’s mugger.

It actually almost made sense.

“Do you have any people?” Conner asked.

Tim looked up.

“Not that the buildings aren’t cool I just-”

Tim didn’t say anything, just went over to the cabinet and pulled a different strip out of the dryer. He laid it out and Conner saw the darkened silhouettes of laughing faces.

“Everything’s inverted,” Tim said, “You have to try to imagine it backwards, so to speak.”

Conner squinted at an image that looked like four or five people crowded together for a group photo.

“This one?” He asked, pointing, but careful not to touch.

Tim snorted.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t nothing me. You don’t like it.” Tim wouldn’t meet his eyes but Conner could swear he was almost smiling, which lessened his annoyance. “What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Conner tried a new tactic. Instead of rolling his eyes and calling Tim out, he crossed his arms and started to pout.

“You’re always so mean to me,” he mumbled. He tried to really sell it by looking at his feet and imagining he was Clark after being told his VCR collection of Scooby Doo wasn’t cool.

Tim reacted almost immediately, and so positively Conner though he might have found his new golden strategy for the boy. “No, no it’s just. Of all the pictures I take of people you pick the one that looks most like... It’s very...I don’t know. Snapshot-y.”

Conner shrugged. “I think it looks fine. Which one do you like?”

Tim scanned the strip with uncanny speed, and without second guessing, pointed one out close to the end. It was hard to tell what was in the photo, and Conner had to get close to make out two figures in it.

“Ok,” Conner said. “Can you print both?”

“Yeah,” Tim said, “It shouldn’t take long.”

* * *

The dark room looked more like what Conner had imagined in his head. Everything was illuminated in an orange-red light that made Tim’s turtleneck look oddly faded. There were two tables. One held a machine that could have easily been mistaken for a giant microscope. It was hefty, and looked bolted into place. On the table next to it were four shallow containers. A sink stood in one corner along with an analog clock that made an audible tick. Tim shut the door behind him and went to the containers. He pulled some jugs from under the table and started filling them.

“Don’t take out your phone. Any light will kill the pictures.”

Tim moved over to the microscope like contraption and gestured for Conner to join him. Conner did, hesitant at first that he might be too close to Tim’s personal space while he was working, but Tim said nothing.

“So you pretty much just, project the image onto photo paper using this,” he lifted a lever, and the top half of the machine creaked up. He pulled out a metal frame that came apart in two pieces. He fit the first piece of film into the frame, and replaced it into the machine, and let down the lever. He then turned it on.

It beamed a projection of the film down onto the table. Immediately Conner saw the group photo, and as Tim played with the dials and knobs on the machine, the faces of Stephanie, Cass, Bart, Jaime, and Cassie came into focus. They were smiling, except Bart who was laughing maniacally. Tim centered the picture on a metal bracket on the table.

“Whoa,” Conner said.

“Homecoming,”

He turned off the machine. Then he reached under the table and pulled out a box.

“Lights off?” he asked, even though all the lights were off and Conner had responsibly put his phone on silent into his back pocket. Satisfied Tim pulled a sheet of paper out of the box.

“Glossy or matte?” He asked.

“Uh, glossy.”

Tim snorted in that way Conner now was now sure meant he thought it was amusing how little Conner knew, and placed the paper down, sliding it between the metal pieces of the bracket. The next few minutes were spent with Tim pushing various buttons and adjusting various dials. The machine went on and off several times, with Tim covering portions of the picture as he went.

Conner wound up simply playing shadow, as Tim finished at the machine and walked over to the nearby table. The bins were labeled in familiar neat handwriting. He dipped the paper into the first bin, ‘Developer’  and started muttering to himself. Conner sat back and watched as used tongs to gently rustle the paper, and kept his amazement to himself when a patchy, black and white version of his friends slowly began to emerge.

Without asking questions he was able to piece together that photography was a very time sensitive art. Tim kept a careful eye on the clock as he dipped the photo into each bath. And when he finished he went right back to the machine and repeated the process, this time setting the machine only once before developing the photo.

“It looks good,” he said when Tim lowered his third attempt at the photo into the first bath.

“I think the blacks can be deeper. We’ll see. If this doesn’t work I’ll just move on to the next one and make a note of it so I can print it properly later.”

“Why black and white?” Conner asked as Tim moved the picture to the next bath.

“I just like it. I mean, most of the pictures I take are digital now, but the way I see it, black and white works just as well. Especially in film. I feel like, if you’re going to use color you should have a reason, you know? You shouldn't just throw color onto everything. And you learn a lot in black and white too.”

“You sound like an art student,” Conner said.

Tim made a face. “No thanks.”

“Why not? You’re good at it right?” Why was it every time he and Tim were getting along Conner felt like he inadvertently said the wrong thing.

“Maybe, but,” Tim shrugged, “I like STEM stuff better.”

“Chemistry?” Conner guessed. Tim actually laughed at that.

“I’m gonna be a programmer.” The duh was unspoken.

“So a hacker?”

Tim paused. He had been finagling again with controls on his big light projecting machine, and had switched out the film for the next picture.

“Why do you do that?”

“What?” Conner asked.

The corner of Tim’s lip pulled downward in what might have been a pout for just a fraction of a second. “Every time we talk it’s like you’re making fun of me.”

“I am not making fun of you.”

Tim didn’t look like he believed him, and took the newly exposed photo and paper and dipped it into the developer. Conner watched as a new scene emerged from the blank page. The picture Tim had picked was of Stephanie and Cass. They were both wearing coats over their dresses. It must have been after the dance, because they were outside, standing in front of the school and clearly not aware their picture was being taken. Stephanie had her hands up like she was waving them around as she talked, and Cass had eyes only for her. Both girls were lit only by the lights of the school, and the edges of the photo disappeared in darkness.

“This is the better picture,” Conner admitted, begrudgingly. He liked the one with all his friends in it, but this one looked like it had more artistry. Not that Conner could speak much on the matter. “So do you put it on Instagram or something?”

“What?” Tim asked, moving the picture along to the next tub.

“Like, where do you post your photography?”

“I don’t?”

“Oh. That’s too bad. I’m sure Stephanie would like to see these.”

Tim shrugged. “You can take them to her if you like.”

“Are you sure?”

“I can make more.”

* * *

Studying got considerably easier afterwards. All in all they had probably wasted an hour, but it was an hour well spent as far as Conner could be bothered. Tim handed him both pictures, and brushed it off when Conner asked if he was sure.

“I mean it costs practically two dollars a sheet, so don’t _lose_ them.” Which was a classic Tim statement, in that it was a little bit mean and avoided anything close to resembling feelings. Conner felt like he was beginning to really get good at the whole understanding Tim thing. Or at least he found him a lot less irritating.

They were doing so well that Conner wasn’t even bothered by any of the _many_ questions he probably should have been asking. Like. Where was Jason? Where was Clark? Was Tim really bulletproof?

That last one did occur to him, briefly, while Tim read him the cliff notes on _Great Expectations_. But he figured there was no way to bring that up or test it without ruining Tim’s currently good mood.

“Tim.”

Both boys jumped. They had been leant over on the bed. Tim had no qualms about marking up his book, and had been walking Conner through how to write an essay using quotes from the chapter. Mostly by circling the important phrases and saying, “List three supporting narrative details for _this_.”

Bruce Wayne stood in the open door of Tim’s room. He looked different, but Conner noted how even in his own home he dressed in business casual, in a blue button up and black slacks. The man did not know the definition of relaxed, and stood with a stiffness and formality that made Tim look downright lazy in comparison.

“Hey Bruce,” Tim said all quiet and small. Conner could see his eyes darting between Bruce and Conner like he’d been caught doing something bad.

“Mr. Kent,” Bruce said, “Clark is waiting in the foyer.”

There was a beat of awkward silence before Conner realized Bruce was inviting him to kindly get the hell out and he scrambled up to collect his things.

“Sorry Mr. Wayne. We lost track of time.” Conner didn’t even know why he was apologizing. Bruce’s foreboding presence just made him nervous.

As he shoved his things haphazardly into his bag Tim stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Take my copy,” he said, shoving _Great Expectations_ at him.

Conner hesitated.

“It’s an open book test,” Tim added.

“Timothy Drake Wayne,” Conner said, holding the book up like it was made of glass, “you are a lifesaver.”

Tim smiled but resisted saying anything and Conner appreciated that, he really did. He took an uneasy look at Bruce and shuffled towards the door.

“So, uh...which way’s the foyer?”

In an uncharacteristically hesitant motion, Bruce looked meaningfully over his head at Tim and said. “I think Tim can show you.”

Conner then watched as the two held a small, silent conversation, before Tim huffed, grabbed Conner by the arm, and said, “Fine.”

He dragged him away from his room and Bruce in an obviously sour mood and Conner couldn’t help but ask as they rounded the corner.

“What was that?”

Tim’s expression let up for a second when he remembered Conner was there and not the person he was mad at.

“Nothing,” Tim heaved a great sigh, and let go of Conner’s arm. “My family can be annoying.”

Conner tried to be as tactful as he could, because he knew jack all about the Waynes and a lot about abnormal family dynamics.

“They seem nice.”

Tim looked at him, and Conner found himself the unexpected focus of ice blue eyes. Tim looked at everything like it was a puzzle behind which were answers that could mean life or death. Conner knew this now, but it still did not make being the center of Tim’s attention any easier.

“They are nice,” Tim said more softly than Conner had anticipated, “They’re just...they can be a lot sometimes. I mean you saw the stunt Jason pulled today.”

“Yeah,” Conner said. “That was a bit…”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Pretty sure that was somehow my fault, but um,” Tim smiled, mood clearly beginning to get back to where it had been prior to Bruce barging in, “I’ll make sure it never happens again.”

“Well don’t be too hard on him,” Conner said, “We had a good day, didn’t we?”

Tim paused, seemingly surprised, “Yes. Yes we did.”

They turned a corner into more familiar hallways, and Conner saw Clark talking animatedly to Alfred. Alfred appeared to be nodding at the appropriate moments, and generally indulging Clark’s energetic thanks when they spotted Conner and Tim.

“You boys ready for school Monday?” Clark asked, cheery as ever.

“The test is Wednesday, Clark,” Conner said, not even thinking about it.

Clark reached out and mussed his hair as he came in range and Conner made a big show of complaining, as he tried to fix it using his reflection in the glass panes beside the door.

“You and Young Master Kent are always welcomed at our estate,” Alfred said, much more amiable than this morning. “It’s always good to see Master Timothy socializing with peers his own age.”

“Alfred,” Tim said, but it was fond if a little embarrassed. Conner knew that if any other member of his family had said that Tim would be making faces, but Alfred apparently was exempt and Conner made note of that for the future. He was probably learning way too much about Tim.

“Well, thank you for the hospitality, but we’ll get out of your hair,” Clark said, stepping out onto the front step, “Conner, say thank you.”

“Clark, of course I’m going to say thank you who do you think raised me? Don’t answer that.” Conner said as he saw Clark open his mouth. He turned back to Alfred. “Thank you for the pizza. Thanks Tim, for the crash course. English is still dumb but uh.”

Tim shifted his weight, like he was considering saying something, before reaching out. “Give me your phone.”

Conner handed it over. If Tim had asked even four hours ago he would have said no but he watched Tim type out his number and couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy. Maybe things were possibly looking up.

As Tim handed back his phone Conner could swear Alfred was smiling.

“Goodnight, Master Kent.” The door closed.

Conner looked at his phone while he and Clark walked to the car. Tim had texted himself from Conner’s phone.

**Tim Drake**

He had also removed the ‘Loverboy’ from Jason’s contact information. Before he even reached the car, his phone dinged.

Tim had sent him a link to an Instagram account. It was empty, without even a profile picture. Conner smiled despite himself.

* * *

Monday saw Conner tired, but in relatively good spirits. He managed to fall back into his old routine. He showed up to school early. Found a good spot, and studied for class while he waited for his friends or the bell, whichever came first.

Nice and normal. It surprised Conner that it felt that way. Mostly because normal had been bumming on the beach and getting into trouble for the last four years. But he welcomed it. For now.

Things were not normal for Stephanie, however.

Lean, with the body of a dancer and the face of a supermodel, Cassandra Wayne never fell a step behind her new girlfriend. She was so smitten it was endearing. She didn’t talk, seemingly ever, and Stephanie behaved like everything was perfectly ordinary about the situation, so no one said anything about it.

Stephanie’s new shadow also meant, seemingly, the two ate lunch together, and Conner and his friends stood awkwardly watching the two from across the cafeteria.

“Did she actually ditch us?” Bart said, sounding disgusted. He, Jaime, and Conner had just returned from the lunch line to find that instead of saving a table for them, Stephanie and Cass were sitting with Duke and Jason at a much smaller table by the cafeteria’s large frosted windows.

“You think you know a person,” Conner said.

“Don’t be so hard on her,” Jaime said, looking genuinely upset at both Conner and Bart, “I mean, it’s understandable, right? They just started dating, it’s uh...very exciting?”

Bart snorted, “Yeah right. Im’ma have to go find a table.”

Jaime watched him leave, shoulders slumping.

“You and Bart...have a fight?” Conner asked. He was still not wholly sure what had happened during homecoming, because Stephanie sometimes had some trouble focusing where Cass was concerned.

Jaime shrugged. “Nah. It’s fine.” A pause. “Nothing happened.”

The fact he had to _say_ nothing happened made Conner want to ask what had actually happened, but he canned it when he saw the way Jaime’s face fell. Bart had taken a seat at a table made up of mostly unfamiliar seniors, plus one Jackson Hyde.

“So, just you and me then?” Conner asked.

Jaime nodded. The two made their way to a moderately sized table, with Jaime looking back one too many times to check on Bart. Conner figured this would be a regular occurrence and had just started to dig into his lunch when someone new walked up to the table.

“This is unusual.” Tim Drake Wayne stood over their table, but his eyes were trained on Stephanie’s table. Jason waved at him. Tim sighed. “And I see Bart is hanging out with the football team.”

“What of it?” Jaime asked. Conner was taken aback by the level of surly Jaime was capable of. He’d never seen the boy be less than pleasant, even to Jason.

Tim startled, clearly also not sure. “Well he is a track star so I’m sure it makes sense he’d be friends with some of the other athletes.”

Jaime scowled, and Conner decided to rescue Tim, who despite sounding like he had a stick up his ass, was not actually intending to egg Jaime on. He grabbed Tim’s arm gently and tugged him down into the seat beside him. Tim went without resistance.

“Maybe chill on talking about Bart for a bit?” Conner suggested.

“We didn’t have a fight,” Jaime grumbled.

Tim started eating without comment.

“Hey Tim,” Cissie and Cassie pulled up to the table. Cissie was done up as always, hair in a high ponytail, lips sparking, and she smiled at Tim in a manner that made Conner cringe.

“Uh, hi Cissie,” Tim said, looking disinterested.

“Did Steph really ditch us?” Cassie asked.

At this point Conner felt he _had_ to say something. “Would you guys lay off? I’m sure she’s not ditching us, ok? Jeez. She gets a girlfriend and you all start acting like your mom abandoned you.”

Cassie and Cissie took their seats, but Cassie didn’t look ready to back down.

“She’s just gonna hang out with the super snobs over there and then forget about us.”

“I’m right here,” Tim said.

“Didn’t you date her last year?” Cissie asked.

“This is a disaster,” Jaime said.

Conner hated normal, he decided.

* * *

In the hall after lunch Conner practically sprinted to catch Stephanie before class.

“Miss me much?” Stephanie asked with a grin as he tripped over his own laces and had to put a hand out against the lockers trying to catch his balance.

“Stephanie, dear God, please come back. I can’t stand it,” he said.

She had the nerve to laugh. “Jeez Conner, if I knew you cared that much.”

“Don’t even joke. All Jaime did was mope all lunch. Cissie goes way out of line when you aren’t there. And Tim can’t small talk to save his life. I’m actually dying. I need you to come back and restore order to this house.”

Stephanie peered around his shoulder and pointed. Down the hall Tim was waiting outside the chem classroom, looking increasingly uncomfortable as Cissie leaned more and more into his personal space.

“I’ll be back soon...maybe you should rescue your friend.”

“He’s not my friend,” Conner assured her, before going to rescue Tim.

* * *

Conner couldn’t decide if he liked Tim better before, or after, the other boy apparently decided they were friends. Or at least decided Conner was worth talking to. Tim had been quiet for most of lunch, but as soon as they took their seat in chem he turned to Conner.

“Is Bart ok?” he asked.

“Yeah. I mean. I think so.”

Tim frowned and turned in his seat to see Bart further back in class with his lab partner. Conner turned too. Bart looked fine. He doodled in his notebook while they waited for the final bell and didn’t notice them staring.

“Are you going to be ok in English Wednesday? Do you want to go over the book again after school.”

“Can’t. I have football.”

“Right.”

The bell rang and suddenly Conner found himself too distracted by the loads of instructions being given for the lab to really care about Tim or notice the way the other boy was careful this time around to make sure Conner got _all_ of the answers.

* * *

In gym class Conner finally got to catch up with Bart. Mostly he and Bart had been amicable acquaintances. Bart was a chatterbox, and Conner could be too when he wasn’t sullenly angsting about his home life. But Bart also came off as a little juvenile. Part of Conner thought they’d probably be into a lot of the same movies and games, but with Cassie in his English class, Tim as his lab partner, and Stephanie as his beacon of hope and sanity in Gotham, the two had never actually gotten the chance to hit it off. That, and he was normally glued to Jaime.

So when Coach gave them a kick ball and told them to have a good time, Conner lined up with Bart near the home base. As the makeshift game began, the first kid kicked and sent the red ball ricocheting off the back wall of the gym, catching one of the “outfielders” in the head on the return. Conner winced in sympathy, but turned his attention to Bart.

“Hey,” he said.

Bart smiled. Nothing seemed wrong. “Hey.”

“You ditched us at lunch.”

Bart’s smile faltered. “Yeah. Sorry about that. I panicked. I’m not great under pressure. That’s what Uncle Max says, anyways.”

Uncle Max was the relative Bart lived with. Conner knew that much. Bart was a gangly teenager. As the next person took his turn, leaving Bart next in line, the boy’s thin frame thrummed with energy. He always wore the gym uniform just a little wrong. Today he wore his track shorts instead of the standard issue gym short, and his hair, wild and auburn, was pulled back by a sparkly headband that would have looked silly on anyone, but just emphasized how Bart’s restlessness drove his entire existence. Conner watched as his hand incessantly tapped out patterns on his leg and his eyes darted around even as they were trying to talk to each other.

“Look, things are just, rough at home right now, all right. The holidays are coming up so everyone’s like, freaking out.” Bart made a face.

Conner had pegged Bart for the enthusiastic holiday type so watching him look disheartened at the thought of the coming months was a bit sad. He shrugged.

“I mean, if you want family drama during the holidays you can always come over and watch mine,” he offered.

Bart smiled. “Hey now, I like Clark.”

“So does everybody, apparently. So did you and Jaime fight or what?”

Bart coughed. Kid number two kicked and ran and someone groaned and cursed loudly as they shambled after the ball.   

“We didn’t fight.” Bart said. “Look. You guys wouldn’t get it. Jackson is in a really tough spot. And like. You know. I get that.”

Conner tried to see how this was all connected. “Because he’s gay.”

“Because he’s being scouted dumb ass.” Bart stopped moving for a half a second to look at Conner. “You know I’m a senior, right? And that I’m like, a nationally ranking track star. They’ve started talking like, college scholarships and shit and like…”

“Like?”

Bart leaned in. “Like, the Olympics.”

“Allen!” Coach Scott yelled, “You’re holding us up!”

* * *

After gym Conner and Bart sat outside the locker rooms. Conner was just waiting to head out to the football field. They sat in the hallway right by the large door that opened to the back of the football field.

“So, you’re like, really good at running.”

“Yeah,” Bart said. He was blushing and still looked distracted, but he grinned ear to ear. “Been doing it since I was small. I probably was running before I could walk.”

“That’s kind of amazing. How fast are you?”

“I’ve almost got my 100 meter down to almost exactly ten seconds so...” When Conner looked at him blankly he added. “Really fast. This’ll probably be my best season yet. And obviously I’m going to keep training. The college recruiters I’ve been talking to are all like, from universities that want Olympians and World Championships and stuff.”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“That’s great,” Conner said. And he meant it. He would’ve killed to have half the passion Bart showed for track. He hardly knew what he wanted for breakfast let alone a career.

“It’s not a real job though.”

“Why not?”

“Well ok.” Bart said, “Let’s say we’re being optimistic and I _do_ get scouted. For like a prestigious school or something. That’s great. For a few years. But then what? Do I just do track for the rest of my life? What happens when my knees give out or-”

The way Bart spoke felt very much like he was echoing someone else, someone who had told him these things likely a dozen time.

“-not to mention I’d be leaving here for...well God knows wherever.”

“When’s your next meet?”

Bart stared for a minute. “Uh...we have one Saturday at the indoor track in Burnley why…?

“I want to see you race before you become famous so that I can tell everyone about it.”

Bart laughed. “Shut up. It’s not going to happen.”

“Well I think if someone comes along offering you a chance to run in the Olympics you should take it.”

Bart laughed again and Conner stood up and grabbed his bag as he saw the football team start to gather outside.

“Conner,” Bart said, as Conner reached the door, “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thank you to the lovely Jonaira for handling the beta reading because I admittedly make a lot of typos. Update schedule still isn't solid yet. But hopefully soon I can make a whimsical promise like once a week, or twice a month or something.
> 
> And welcome new readers. And no, I cannot tell you whether the Wayne's are vampires are not. For those reading the notes, we have started veering left. We definitely stopped 1 for 1 taking twilights plot cues a while ago.


	13. Track

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner goes to support Bart at a local competition, things begin to calm down for Conner's social life, and Tim start's becoming a permanent fixture in his routine.

“So here’s the plan,” Stephanie waved her hands at the gathered lunch table crowd. She’d saved their usual extra large table today, and had waited until every one of them had gathered to start her lecture. “Monday, Wednesday, I’m with Cass. Tuesday, Thursday I’ll be with you guys. And we’ll alternate every other Friday, okay?”

“What is this, a divorce hearing?” Cassie asked. Conner laughed, but tried to cover it up with a cough when Stephanie glared.

“Well, if you guys are acting like children…”

“Why don’t you just bring Cass over here?” Conner asked. This was the obvious, simple solution. He didn’t understand what all the social maneuvering who sat with who was about. He’d never had enough friends his age to have to worry about the sort of thing. Stephanie hesitated.

“So, it’s not that I don’t think you’ll like her-”

“Starting strong,” Conner told her.

“-Shut up Kent- it’s just that, if Cass sits with us, then we’re going to need a bigger table. Because then Jason and Duke will want to sit with us. And if they sit with us, so will Damian. And he’s kind of an ass.”

“This is the largest table here,” Bart chimed in unnecessarily. It was obvious to everyone space would be a real issue if they decided to fold the Wayne family into their own.

“Look,” Conner said, crossing his arms, “the Wayne’s are famous. It’ll probably be less pressure on you, Steph, if you aren’t the only one sitting at their table. I doubt you and Cass are any kind of secret, but still.”

“I thought you didn’t like them?” She said, eyes narrowing at the way Conner relaxed back in his chair.

“I’ve been known to, on occasion, find them annoying, this is true,  _ but _ it means I can make Tim do my English homework.”

“I will do no such thing.” 

Conner jumped. Tim stood behind their table with a tray, and Cassandra, who looked at Stephanie with big doe like brown eyes. Tim sighed.

“I take it you’re sitting here for the day?” Tim asked. 

Stephanie nodded and reached out briefly towards Cass. She signed something, hands moving in short, purposeful motions, and Cass signed back with flowing hand movements that echoed dancing.

Tim must have followed all of it because he shrugged, and started towards the usual Wayne table. Cass hesitated, signed one last thing to Stephanie, and followed.

“Ok, you  _ have  _ to sit with her,” Cassie of all people said. She watched Cass and Tim take their seats with the other Waynes and turned imploring blue eyes on Stephanie. “That was  _ so  _ cute.”

“You were the one-”

“I was wrong. We’ll be fine. We’ll figure out the table thing later. Shoo. Go.” Cassie waved Stephanie off.

Stephanie looked at the rest of the table, seemingly awaiting their permission, and Conner gave what he hoped looked like an encouraging nod. Stephanie grinned.

“Thanks guys,” she chirped and jumped up to chase after Cass.

“That’s cute,” Cissie said, and she looked after the two longingly.

* * *

Wednesday finally came and Conner braced himself for the big day. Truth be told, testing had started full swing, and he’d probably bomb Chem and Math. Spanish was surprisingly alright, and PE was not a problem. And then World History would likely be as much of a struggle as English, seeing as it was mostly reading and Conner didn’t get it. He wasn’t sure exactly what his report card needed to look like for Lex to leave him alone but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t make it.

He took his seat in English class, Tim’s book on his desk, and nervously played with the end of a pen cap. He had been reviewing the notes Tim had left in the margins everyday since he left his house, and while cramming for three days couldn’t guarantee anything, he hoped it might mitigate his bad grades.

Mrs. Bruner passed out the test and kids quietly started scribbling on their loose leaf lined paper.

When Conner got his copy he breathed a sigh of relief. The test almost perfectly matched the study guide she had handed out, and which he had reviewed seriously with Tim. He started skimming through the questions and felt even better when he saw that the essay question was pick one of three provided.

Checking the clock to see how much time he had left, he got to work.

* * *

“How did it go?” Tim asked while they did busy work in chemistry. It was almost cute how he tried to look like he wasn’t burning with curiosity. Conner looked up to see if Ms. Isley was watching and shrugged.

“I won’t know till Monday. Thanks though.”

It wasn’t much. Conner still had the rest of his classes to worry about. But he enjoyed the small victory.

* * *

It wasn’t until Thursday that anyone noticed Greta was missing. And to top it all off it was only because Tim said something. It was Stephanie’s off day, so she sat a table over with Cass and Jason and the other Waynes. Tim sat at Conner’s table. He had taken to checking in on how Conner’s English homework was going during lunch, despite Conner insisting he’d ask if he needed help.

Tim normally kept his mouth shut during lunch. He didn’t seem to like talking to the rest of the table, or else didn’t know what to say. Jaime and Bart seemed to be on marginally better terms. At the very least they were talking and Cissie and Cassie and Conner spent most of lunch politely interjecting into Bart’s rambling to save Jaime from having to do all the work.

Tim looked up from his meal (always a school bought cafeteria meal) and frowned, interrupting Bart midway through a sentence about the speed at which a shrimp could theoretically throw a right hook.

“Has anyone seen Greta?”

The table went silent, each person turning over in their head when they had last seen the quiet girl.

“No,” Jaime said at last.

Tim frowned. “Is she sick?”

No one answered. Conner honestly, for his part, didn’t know. He’d barely ever said three words to the girl. Tim looked visibly distressed. Conner had never actually seen him upset before. Every scowl, every nuisance Conner had caused had certainly annoyed Tim, but the other boy wasn’t scowling now. He looked thunderously dark, instead. And then in an instant it passed, but the table remained silent.

“Do any of you have her number?”

Silence.

“Ok, do you know someone who might?”

...

Tim huffed. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be friends? One of you has to have it.”

“Stephanie might.” Cassie answered sounding small.

Tim turned on his heel to go talk to Stephanie. And despite barely knowing her, barely knowing most of his new friends, Conner felt inexorably guilty. He decided he’d ask Tim in class what he learned, if anything.

* * *

But Tim didn’t show up to class. And he didn’t show up the next day either. Conner sat in class Friday miffed about the fact he even cared, but unfortunately he’d gotten rather used to Tim being around to help him through the worst part of lab.

Without him, Conner learned, he was much slower.

“Do think Tim being gone has anything to do with…?” Conner didn’t know how to ask without sounding weird but Bart caught his drift as they fell into an easy pace with the rest of the class lapping the gym in PE.

“I don’t know. I mean. The Wayne’s are absent a lot. Maybe.”

“Did anyone hear back from Greta.” 

Bart shook his head.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Conner said, unconvinced himself. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

* * *

Saturday morning, the most daunting thing Conner had to do was convince Clark that it was ok for him to take the bus into town alone. Clark was less than happy, and spent all morning moping. He made pancakes, which Conner assumed was a passive aggressive way of trying guilt him into letting Clark have his way via an overdose of love and affection.

Which worked pretty well, but only because Conner was feeling guilty about a lot lately.

“It’s fine Clark.”

“Gotham is dangerous,” Clark reminded him, waving a finger in the air as he used his other hand to flip a pancake all Masterchef like. From the sofa Conner rolled his eyes. He would miss this when Lex finally forced him back to Metropolis.

“If it’s so dangerous why’d you send me to public school?” Conner grumbled. It was a petty argument. He would have thrown a fit if sent to a private school and Clark couldn’t afford it.

Clark wore a faded Metropolis University sweatshirt with khakis and the kind of white socks that only dads wore: calf high with a hole in the toe. 

“You know, another of those murders you like so much happened in an alley by the Arkham Bridge Park.”

“Way to make it sound weird, Clark.” Out of pure boredom waiting for the pancakes Conner picked up the Gotham Gazette from their pea sized coffee table and flipped through. 

“Page 12. I’m going to be doing some follow up on it.” Clark called, “And I wrote the interview on page 8.”

Conner pointedly did not flip to either page 12 or 8. Instead he read the page that was open, a small piece on how Gotham had broken records statewide with their annual blood drive in tandem with the Thomas Wayne Foundation and Gotham Mercy General Hospital. It wasn’t a super interesting read.

As promised, page 12 held a short article on a gruesome “bear attack” in Arkham Bridge Park. Thinking briefly of Maps, Conner took a picture of it for later. And finally he turned to page eight.

_ An Interview With The Wayne Family _

_ By Clark Kent _

_ Bruce Wayne, billionaire entrepreneur and humanitarian, and his family agreed to sit down with me personally this season to talk about the family’s upcoming plans.  _

_ If you met the Waynes on the street, you might not realize the eclectic bunch are even related. But sitting in the drawing room of the Wayne Manor, with the total of six Wayne children in attendance, there is a sense of belonging. Each of Bruce Wayne’s children is distinct. Cassandra Cain Wayne is a mater ballerina. His son Timothy Drake Wayne is, from what I am told, a budding business man. Dick Grayson is a man of the law. But each greet me with a warm smile and a handshake as we settle in with tea made by the gracious Alfred Pennyworth, who is as much a part of the family as any of them. _

“I don’t normally do fluff pieces like that,” Clark said, emerging from the kitchen with two steaming plates of pancakes. “But Vicki Vale has been thoroughly told never to try and interview  them personally, after what happened last year.”

“What happened last year?”

“Bruce Wayne’s wedding was cancelled. I don’t think it was actually Vikki’s fault, but,” Clark shrugged, “Why don’t we eat?”

Conner accepted the change of subject and resolved to google it later.

* * *

“Be careful,” Clark told Conner before he left, “There’s a murderous bear on the loose.”

“It’s Gotham. There’s probably several. I’ll see you later Clark.”

The buses of Gotham were not very nice. They smelled, and slogged through city traffic, backing up everyone else behind them. Conner didn’t mind Clark driving him, but he liked the independence of public transit. He would have to talk to Clark, he thought, about getting himself a license. He asked Rex about it once, and had been told “Hold on a sec” before getting thrown into the driver’s seat of the jeep. Rex had him gun it down beach roads while he hollered. It was one of Conner’s favorite memories. But it also had not taught him road safety.

The Burnley District was a bit nicer than the area around Conner’s apartment. The bus passed the mall, and eventually Conner got off a block away from where his phone told him the indoor track for Gotham University was.

“Conner!” Stephanie and Cassie waved from across the street and he jogged to meet them.

“Jaime’s inside,” Cassie informed him.

There was no entry fee for the event. Just a nice security guard at the main entrance, who waved them through. Parents and families sat scattered throughout the stands. It was surprisingly crowded, and a stand had been opened selling canned soda and pretzels. A group of runners, clearly from different schools, stood around warming up. Everyone wore bright colors, but their faces were serious. Conner saw Bart, in a white tank top with the schools logo emblazoned on the front and blue shorts, standing a little ways away from most of the other runners. He was talking to Jackson Hyde.

Though he was surprised to see the other boy, Bart looked perfectly at ease with him. It was the closest to still Conner had ever seen the other boy. Gold eyes lit up when he saw them. 

“Guys!” He waved and half jogged over to the entrance. “Jaime is already up in the stands.”

He pointed to where Jaime sat with an older white gentleman, and a younger woman who still looked old enough to pass for a mom. Neither looked anything like Bart. Jaime was speaking with the man but it was too far away to hear what they were saying.

Jackson walked over instead of jogging gave an awkward wave. He seemed like the quiet sort and said, “Hey guys.”

Jackson wore a red hoodie and track pants. He looked away from the group quickly, and gravitated towards Bart like he though the smaller boy could protect him. Bart took no notice.

“Sorry about this,” Bart added, “track is super boring.”

“It’s fine Bart,” Stephanie said, “It’s not boring.”

“You are literally going to watch me run in a circle, a few times, very quickly, but if you say so,” And with a skip in his step he turned and jogged back off to where he’d been stretching. He tossed a peace sign at the stands and fist bumped a dark haired girl as he walked past. Jackson stayed behind with them, hands stuffed in the pockets of his hoodie.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this chipper,” Stephanie said.

“He gets like this before competitions.”

“You come to these a lot?”

Jackson ducked his head, “Just this year. The athletes at school do a voluntary summer retreat thing. I went with a few of the other seniors last summer which is why Bart and I um, know each other.” Conner couldn’t tell if there was more to the story or not, but Jackson simply nodded to the stands. “We should go sit.”

The group made their way to the stands where Jackson introduced them to Uncle Max. 

Max nodded, curtly and shook hands with them each one by one. 

“Good to meet you,” he said to Conner. Uncle Max was absolutely nothing like Bart. The man had the bearing of former military. Certainly he was older, softer round the edges than most soldiers, and his face held deep laugh lines. But his broad shoulders the the way he held his head so he met everyone's eyes straight on as he shook hands very much reminded Conner of the only cop besides Grayson he’d ever had an extended conversation with. 

Jaime did not say a word to Jackson. He didn’t even look up to acknowledge the other boy’s presence even as he scooted over to make room for the girls. Conner made, what he felt, was the safe decision of sitting between the two. 

After introductions were made (the woman beside him was his daughter, Helen), Max sat, leaning forward slightly, chin resting on his hands, and made for an excellent impersonation of a statue. Conner felt did not believe that Bart and Max could be related at all.

“They’re starting.” Helen said. Helen had black hair, and her father’s laugh lines. “It’s nice of you all to come out like this. Bart talks about you a lot.”

“It’s no problem,” Stephanie appeared to have taken an instant liking to Helen. She sat beside the older woman and had filled her in on who was who and how they had heard about the event. “To be honest I didn’t realize he was so good. He never talks about it.”

Max smiled, but didn’t say anything, and with a bang the race began.

Down below Bart and the other runners took off, and Conner was reminded of Bart’s casual “I’m very fast,” as the other boy blew ahead. It would not have been accurate to say Bart was graceful. He ran instead like a great force propelled him forward, and before the first few seconds were over he was far ahead of his peers, save one. 

Stephanie and Cassie were the only two who cheered.

In the last few seconds Bart raced neck and neck with a nameless blonde. The blonde faltered for just a fraction of a second, and just like that Bart was ahead. He hadn’t been lying. Conner could have sworn the entire race took place in  _ less _ than ten seconds.

“He can go faster,” Max said. It sounded very matter of fact. He made a sound halfway between amused and chastising, even as Bart slowed to a jog, and finally trickled to a complete stop so he could turn and wave excitedly. The girl he’d fist bumped earlier ran up to give him a high five.

There were a few other events. Bart ran a total of three races before he took a seat on the bleachers down below and cheered on the other participants. Finally there seemed to be a break in the activities, where the racers all dispersed to the stands or grabbed water bottles.

Conner had to agree, track  _ was _ kind of boring when it wasn’t his friend racing.

Bart bounded up the bleachers.

“Hey guys! They’re doing the girls’ sprints next, then the jumping events. We’re gonna stay to cheer on the rest of the school’s runners, if that’s cool.”

“Of course that’s cool,” Jaime said immediately.

Bart beamed, turned, and immediately ran back to the rest of his track friends. The blonde he’d beaten also seemed to know him, and they chatted down below while the girls warmed up.

“That’s Thaddeus,” Jackson said. It was unnecessary, but the older boy seemed like he really wanted to fill the awkward silence that had fallen over the group. Certainly Max and Helen weren’t chatty enough to do it. “He’s a jerk, and probably the only runner in the county who goes to nationals every year with Bart.”

“Bart’s been to nationals every year?” Jaime asked. He leaned forward a little to peer around Conner at Jackson.

Conner could sympathise with feeling like you were being left out of the life of someone close to you. It did not make sitting between the two easier.

“Yeah. Sort of. He went for the middle distance runs but not the sprints. He just started doing the sprint training last year. He said he likes the longer distance stuff more but he’s better at the sprints. No stamina.” Jackson smiled, and gave a soft shrug, before turning his eyes back to the track.

Jaime frowned, but didn’t ask any more questions for the rest of the event.

* * *

Monday saw Bart in a much better mood. Gold eyes sparkled as he caught up with Conner before school only to thank him repeatedly for showing up.

“That was my best time yet. I know it’s boring, but like, it’s so good not to just have Max there. And also the pretzels are great I had like five.”

“We’ll come to the next one,” Conner offered.

Bart waved away the suggestion as they walked through the gates together. “Maybe. We’ll see where it is. You definitely wouldn’t want to come to states or nationals. That’s a drive.”

Even brushing it off, Bart still beamed. The energy was infectious, and Conner found himself grinning.

“To be honest I was kind of worried,” Bart added, “Jaime’s been a bit weird since homecoming. I was really hoping him and Jackson would get alone. Jackson needs more friends.”

As they walked Conner wondered if it was his moral responsibility, as a friend, to say something to either Jaime or Bart about this. At a high level, Conner did not enjoy drama, nor the mechanics of trying to make all his friends like each other. They were young adults and could sort it out themselves. Conner always had managed on his own. On the other hand it did occur to him that by not telling Jaime or forcing the two to speak to each other directly it may cause unnecessary injury. Worse yet, Jaime was unbearable when he awkwardly didn’t know what to say to Bart.

Ultimately Conner couldn’t decide, and so he said nothing, which was likely one of many mistakes.

* * *

When English came around in third period, at least one bit of the conflict amongst his friends had been resolved.

“Greta texted me and Steph last night. She moved to to live with her aunt outside the city. Apparently she decided it would be better to switch schools than try to commute for the rest of the year,” Cassie said.

“That’s weird.” Cissie had recently joined them in the back of class. “Are we sure everything’s ok? She was so nice.”

Cissie seemed to be referencing something specific and once more Conner regretted not being able to go to homecoming. He also felt greatly relieved in spite of himself. The Greta thing had seeped into his already guilty conscience.

“Tell her to text us if she needs absolutely anything,” Cissie said.

“I will,” Cassie said, “And I already invited her to come hang out with us again sometime. Maybe if we go to another of Bart’s things?”

“Maybe if Conner ever joins the football team for real,” Cissie said. She smiled, and Conner found he liked Cissie better when she was a little less concerned with impressing people, even if it was at his expense.

Mrs. Bruner handed back the tests one at a time, and the class went silent as each student checked their grade. She muttered a quiet, “Nicely done, Mr. Kent,” as she slipped Conner’s test face down onto his desk.

He got a B.

* * *

At lunch Conner didn’t even wait to slide into the seat next Tim, who looked comically surprised to see six feet of good ole' Kansas born teenager running at him.

“You’re amazing. I got a B. I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank you.”

Tim looked tired. He always looked tired after being absent for a while, but he managed a shaky, half convincing smile as he leaned back. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I probably bombed history. And math but-”

“You didn’t tell me you were struggling in history,” Tim’s brow furrowed. Conner was a bit close, having not paid attention in his rush to share the good news, and Tim readjusted so he wasn’t leaning so far back. “I can help in math too. I’m in AP Calc.”

Conner hesitated, because he didn’t really  _ want _ help in other subjects. He and Tim had a hard enough time getting on as it was, and his study time was mostly weird hours before school and weekends. 

“I didn’t really think of it,” he said at last, “figured it was hard enough getting me to focus on English. Besides. I should be able to study myself.”

Tim didn’t respond right away. His eyes did the weird focus-y narrowing thing where it looked like his brain was working on overdrive. “Well. I do need to meet certain tutoring hour requirements for National Honor Society. We could meet once a week and just review. I might not be able to save your grades this semester but it can’t hurt. After all, if you picked up your English grade so quickly, you probably aren’t struggling as much as you think. You can text me to set up a time.”

Tim nodded to himself when he finished, like he approved of his own message. Which was cute, but Conner still wanted to find a way to politely decline.

“I mean, you probably have better things to do.”

“Not really.”

“Are you sure? I’m pretty far behind so-”

“We should probably start soon then.” Tim said with a smile.

Any further arguments, though Conner wasn’t certain Tim knew they were arguments, were cut off by the arrival of the rest of their friends.

* * *

When Conner got home that night after practice, he was met by a peculiar sight. Clark made a point of being home in the mornings. Being a writer afforded him some flexibility, but generally Conner found that Clark wasn’t out from work until at least four. And even then he often was out chasing down leads. Most of the time Conner got home well before him. So when Conner walked into the apartment to find Clark had gone all mad detective on him, with papers and pictures scattered across the kitchen, he was a little concerned.

“Clark?” He asked to the looming figure hunched over the kitchen table. He shuffled inside, simultaneously cold and aching from practice.

“Huh?” Clark had clearly been there a while. He’d forgotten to shave off his morning stubble and wore a truly unbecoming set of grey sweatpants with a giant coffee stain across the lap. “Conner!”

“You’re scaring me Clark,” Conner said, picking up a box of what looked like fast food Tex-Mex. “I didn’t even know they did Tex-Mex in Gotham.”

“It’s not good, but it’s delivery.” Clark said. “Conner you’re going to love this.”

“Am I?” Conner asked. He dropped his bag on the couch, picked up a few more empty boxes of food, and walked around the living room to where Clark was trying to tidy up countless scattered papers.

The kitchen table had been converted into Clark’s research station. Clark had spread out what looked like photocopied case files, including crime scene photos. On one side of the table he’d laid out a map printed on four sheets of letter paper and taped together with clear glossy scotch tape. Little handwritten notes confirmed Conner’s mad detective theory.

“So remember how I was following up on your serial killer bear?” Clark said.

Conner shrugged. “I remember you mentioning something about it not being a bear.”

Clark beamed and Conner felt the outer edges of his unease and sarcasm chipping away. Clark seemed like he would be taking a while so Conner took a seat at the table to hear him out. He was fortunate in that despite the regular morning chats, Clark didn’t ask much of him, and since Metropolis he’d been able to avoid having to directly lie to Clark. Not that Clark even knew there was something to ask about. Still, Conner felt uneasy at the prospect of the conversation going on too long even as he resigned himself to hearing out whatever story Clark had for him.

“I think you’re right. I think it’s a serial killer.”

“I don’t think I said that.”

Clark ran a hand through his already thoroughly disheveled bedhead. “Right. That was me, wasn’t it?”

“So what’s going on? Or can you not talk about that?”

“I’m an investigative reporter. My job is to tell people things I’m not supposed to.” Clark sighed, “And sometimes write clickbait.”

“Whatever pays the bills Clark. The bear serial killer?”

“Not a bear,” Clark said, walking around the table, picking out a few pictures, and taking his seat across from Conner, “Definitely a serial killer though. Are you squeamish?”

“No.”

Despite being in black and white, the photos Clark pushed towards him were obviously gruesome. Mangled bodies, made even more graphically disfigured by the fact it was hard to tell where body began, and filthy street and and trash started. Of all of them, the worst was a high contrast image of a mans face, gaunt and gaping. It could have been straight from a nightmare.

Clark watched him carefully, gauging his response. Conner swallowed down his disgust at the picture and looked back at Clark.

“So what’s going on?”

“There are several bear attacks every year. Normally in the park. Normally no big deal. Gotham also sees thousands of dog bite cases, only a couple hundred ever need hospitalization.

“In the last three years, there have been a total of  _ fifteen _ animal attack related fatalities. Of course no one’s looking at them too closely. An animal attack is generally pretty straightforward. But these many fatalities in a city like this?”

“I think someone’s out there killing homeless people and trying to use animal attacks as a cover.”

“Why?” Conner asked. He’s never seen Clark so focused. Or enthusiastic. The grimness of the topic, and the deaths themselves seemed to bother Clark less than Conner would have thought. Clark leaned back in his kitchen chair, holding up one of the case files to the light like he thought there might be a secret message in the paper.

“Well that’s always the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

“Shouldn’t cops be looking into this? Besides you, I mean.”

“They are. These attacks have happened all around the city, and beyond the abnormality of them, there’s not much proof that they’re actually murders.”

“But there is proof?” Conner said, “You wouldn’t be so excited otherwise, right?”

“Excited may be the wrong word but...it does appear  _ some _ of the bodies could have been dumped. There’s a lack of blood on the scene.” Clark tapped the map on the table, and Conner looked over to see Clark had drawn little Xs in a few locations around the map. “I got a bit carried away, admittedly. All I’m trying to do is figure out if there’s a pattern. Either in the victims or the locations. If I can pinpoint where they might be dumping  _ from.. _ .”

Conner considered the map. There was an X in the Narrows, one near his school. Another in Robinson Park. And another in Arkham Bridge Park. There didn’t seem to be anything in common between the locations, and Conner didn’t know Gotham well enough to know where the other marks were or what that might mean. Feeling stupid for thinking he could help, he sat back.

“So is this you’re new article?”

“I’ve got a few I’m working on. But I’m keen to try and at least give this my due diligence. Most of the victims were homeless, which is likely part of why it’s not getting too much attention right now. And if I try and ask around after the expose drops I doubt I’ll get much cooperation.”

“This is cool, Clark.” Conner said. And he meant it, even as he felt useless. Both for that he couldn’t help and that it was the best he had to offer after everything it felt like Clark had done for him. 

“Eh. Back when I first moved here I covered the crime beat. I got worn out real fast though. Gotham is not a nice place to reporters. Still, if I can, I try to swing by to pick up a case now and then. Especially ones like these. Where the victims don’t have anyone else pushing for the case to be solved.”

Conner couldn’t even look at him without feeling guilty. Even in the midst of his own career, when he could be thinking about himself and money and his reputation as a writer, Clark still only thought of others.

Conner was a shitty son.

* * *

“Hm. You’re correct. But that’s not how you spell Byzantine.”

Conner snatched back his homework and glared. Tim smiled. It was a look that was growing more familiar with each passing day. Tim had a quiet smile, that shone in his eyes despite it’s softness. Tim tucked a stray strand of black hair back behind his ear. They sat at his favorite study spot, the same table outside the school where Conner had first met Duke.

For the last couple of days Tim had managed to find Conner before the bell. Conner didn’t know how he did it. He never texted him. And they never discussed it. But after Monday Tim just seemed to magically appear when he wasn’t looking for him. Conner fell over the chair he was sitting in the first morning it happened.

Tim bundled in a dark grey coat and red scarf worked despite the cold that left their breath hanging in the misty morning air. Conner had taken to wearing one of Clark’s old hoodies under his jacket. Clark had clucked at him and said they needed to go winter clothes shopping. Hawaii had never gotten so cold.

Tim was far more talkative in the morning when it was just the two of them. And he made more than good on his one sided promise to help Conner study. Conner had an inkling of an idea that maybe Tim had  _ known _ that mornings were the only time that would work for him, but he never brought it up. Instead he handed over his homework when asked and let Tim run through and correct it. It helped more than he cared to admit. Hearing Tim’s quiet, melodic voice, retelling the story of how the Byzantine Empire got trampled by the Ottomans made it stick a lot better than when the teacher did it. He still couldn’t remember dates for the life of him but Tim insisted that the teacher wouldn’t care as long as his essay talked about events in chronological order.

Tim wasn’t pushy, and he was so much more relaxed when no one else was around. It had the side effect of calming down Conner as well. The normal edge of feeling like time and the world were against him eased in the face of Tim, who seemed to almost slip away into the shadows if you didn’t focus your eyes just right. He savored the mornings if only for that calmness. 

Often times Tim simply did his own homework while he waited for Conner to finish. Conner still didn’t really know what the deal was. What Tim could possibly want from him, but he found he thought about that less the more time they spent together.

“Hey Conner!” Conner looked up. Tim didn’t move or even acknowledge it as Jaime walked towards them from the edge of the parking lot. Like almost all the others he kindly ignored Tim when he reached the table. After a couple failed attempts from Cassie to get the boy talking, they had all stopped trying.

Tim looked up when Jaime hesitated though. The boy waffled, looking back at the school, and rubbing his hands together in the cold. His threadbare hoodie did not look at all appropriate for the near freezing morning.

“Conner,” Jaime repeated, “Right. So I was wondering. What are you doing this weekend?”

“Studying,” Tim answered lightly. He looked to Conner and Conner made sure to roll his eyes at him. He would be studying, it was true, and he suspected Tim expected they would be doing it together. That would be a very Tim like assumption.

“What he said, sadly,” Conner said.

“Right, ok. Right. So,” Jaime said. He settled on shoving his hands into his pockets, still looking cold . “Would you maybe want to study at my place? Bart will be there.”

Conner liked Bart, but it did not serve as much motivation for him. He was almost sure studying while also listening to Bart talk at a mile a minute would be difficult.

“I don’t see a problem with it,” Tim said quietly.

“I didn’t need your permission,” Conner said, and this time Tim rolled his eyes. Tim turned back to his homework, and Conner turned to Jaime. “Alright. Sure, when should we get there?”

“Uh,” And it was only in that moment, when Jaime’s eyes flicked over to Tim, who had thrown himself back into a half finished English essay, burning with questions and uncertainty, that Conner realized too late the invitation was only for him. “I’ll text you the details later.”

Jaime stumbled off back into school without another word, leaving Conner to figure out if he should uninvite Tim or not.

Tim looked up from his essay, small frown playing on his features. But it wasn’t annoyance. He looked more confused than anything. “Should we bring them snacks? Bart eats a lot.”

Conner smiled, feeling a little better. “Jaime and Bart hang out all the time. I’m sure we’re fine.”

“Still, we should probably...I mean it’s polite to bring snacks, right?” Something about the way Tim suddenly seemed worried about manners, when he spent most of his time  _ avoiding _ people, was endearing.

“I’m sure anything Alfred can make will win you Bart’s friendship for life.”

“If only it were that easy,” Tim said, sounding almost wistful. He started packing up his things.

“It really is,” Conner assured him.

“Right. I’ll see you in class. Good luck in history.” And like he was psychic, Tim stood to walk to class exactly as the first bell rang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonaira agn fixed all my typos because I am the WorST
> 
> but also happy new year.
> 
> Rember Young Justice (the comic) comes back to us this month.
> 
> Fun fact I'm not a huge shipper. TimKon and Brainiac5xSupergirl are kind of it for me. Which means I never really shipped Bluepulse or CassxSteph but this story weirdly worked out in a way I wasn't expecting. To be fair, I'm a discovery?writer??? So I don't really do much planning in general. 90% of this story is a surprise to me too. I used to outline but it always killed the story by the time I finished the first third. I do generally have an ending already planned tho, so no worries. I swear.


	14. Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner arrives to his study date at Jaime's house only to find the situation is more complicated than he had realized.

Jaime’s house sat in the suburbs, the picture of everything Conner had ever wanted. It looked just like the kind of house you would raise a family in. A normal family. With a mom and a dad and maybe a dog. The door to the garage had been left wide open, revealing an old pickup and a smaller sedan. A third car sat in the driveway with the hood popped, and a man with a cane who had Jaime’s brown eyes stood over it, in deep conversation with a redheaded man.

Clark pulled up to the house and cut the engine. “I should introduce myself.”

Now Conner felt this was entirely unnecessary, but Clark opened the door before he could voice such.

“Mr. Reyes! I’m Clark, Conner’s father.” Conner groaned even as his heart jumped at the way Clark so casually introduced them. Like they were a real family instead of a facsimile of the real thing forced together by circumstance.

Conner got out of the car, and trailed behind Clark as the man walked up to introduce himself to Jaime’s dad. It was forty out, but after a week of near freezing mornings, it felt like a blessing.  Jaime’s dad grinned, and excused himself from the man he was speaking with. He wiped his hand on his dark blue jeans before offering it to Clark.

“Alberto, please.”

“Thanks for having Conner over. Obviously if you need anything, feel free to give me a ring. What time should I be back?”

“I can text you, Clark.” At this point Conner had become so numb to the humiliation of watching Clark pull out his dinosaur of a phone that he didn’t even feel the embarrassment. But if Clark thought for one second this was some kind of playdate and that Conner couldn't handle himself-

“Oh, don’t worry. I can drive him home. When do you want him back?”

Suddenly Clark turned big blue eyes, wide with panic, on Conner. Conner for his part, could not help the man. No one had ever asked Lex or Rex when he was supposed to be home. He had no frame of reference for when normal teenagers went home.

“Um, 8?” Conner tried.

Mr. Reyes smiled, kind eyes taking pity on Conner’s obvious ignorance. “So early? I thought Jaime wanted to go see a movie. Unless you have plans...”

“No,” Conner said.

“Ten is fine,” Clark said, “Uh, maybe just be home before eleven? Text me if you need a ride earlier?”

“O-of course.”

The questioning lilt and stutter did a lot to really sell the fact that Conner and Clark knew what they were doing. Mr. Reyes smiled, clapping his hands together. “Well then, Conner, Jaime and the others are inside. Did you want to give me your number Mr. Kent?”

“Yes, of course, Clark is fine.”

Conner started towards the house. He paused at the door to look back. Clark and Mr. Reyes looked almost natural, speaking together, though the other man easily had ten years on Clark. For a minute Conner could imagine the life he could have had if Clark had taken him with him when he left Metropolis.

Or maybe if Conner had reached out to him, instead of running off with the first swindler he met.

He shook it off, and waved when he saw Clark watching him, before stepping into the house.

* * *

Unbearable. Suffocating. Insufferable. There were many words for the atmosphere in Jaime’s living room. Conner knew several by virtue of the SAT vocabulary sheet Tim had almost eagerly shared with him when he showed up.

The living room was homey. Warm plush carpet, cheap paneled walls, and a round table for quick studying or eating. It sat behind a big leather couch and moderately sized TV. The four boys sat at the table, in relative silence, each with the study materials of their choice.

Bart had his chemistry book open, though the rate at which the eraser of his pencil bounced off the pages made his boredom obvious. Jaime had his Spanish homework open (“Don’t  _ judge _ me. I’m an AP Student.”). And Conner worked on English. Tim seemed to be writing something, but had no books out.

No one spoke. Every now and then Conner would look up to check on the others to find Bart staring into space and Jaime glancing nervously between Bart and Tim. It had been like this since he arrived and Conner felt at a loss. He normally  _ liked _ studying with Tim. He sighed. 

At last, he couldn’t take it. “I need the bathroom.”

“I’ll show you where it is.” Jaime jumped up, a little too eager.

Jaime led him away and Tim watched them go, while Bart started testing how high he could bounce his eraser off the table.

When they got to the hallway, instead of leading Conner to the bathroom as promised Jaime brought them to a hard stop and pointed at a door.

“We need to talk. Now.”

Conner bolted towards the door, mostly in reaction to the command in Jaime’s voice, and Jaime followed him into what was obviously his bedroom, going by the general teen boy decor. Upon closing his bedroom door, Jaime spun around and leaned against it, throwing his head into his hands.

“Dude. Please. I need your help.”

Conner stilled. He needed to pee pretty desperately actually and had no idea what Jaime meant. “Excuse me?”

“Dude, with Bart. This entire thing is falling apart.”

“What thing? Are you a thing?” Conner asked.

Jaime threw up his hands.  _ “I don’t know!” _ he lowered his voice, “I mean it was just supposed to be us today. I thought maybe I could get him to, like open up?”

“Then why am  _ I _ here?”

“I wanted your  _ help _ man. I didn’t think we were actually going to  _ study.” _

“My help...” Conner racked his brain for his relevant skills and came up with very little that wasn’t his ability to speak entirely in movie references. “With what?”

“You know…” Jaime said, refusing to meet Conner’s eyes.

“Yeah. No. I really don’t.”

“I thought you would make a good wingman,” he hissed.

Conner laughed in his face. 

“Keep it down,” Jaime said, looking panicked. He turned to check the door but no one seemed to be coming to look for them. He turned accusatory eyes back to Conner. “You don’t have to be an ass.”

“Sorry. Believe me it’s not you. I’d love to help. But I don’t think there’s a single person on the planet who would recommend I give dating advice.” In fact Conner’s short list of exes demonstrated to great effect his poor judgment and had created a pretty shitty template for dating in the future. He’d never even kissed someone who wasn’t arguably robbing the cradle. Tana had been twenty when he turned fourteen. And Kay had been easily ten years older than Tana. 

“Dude, seriously?” Jaime asked. And he looked miffed. 

“What? It’s true.”

“Every girl we know drools over you. Cassie  _ and  _ Cissie asked you to homecoming and  _ Jason Wayne _ asked you to prom. Spare me your ‘I’m not that special bullshit.” Conner spluttered. “It’s not even that hard. I just wanted some moral support when I went to talk to him.”

“First of all,” Conner said, “contrary to popular belief I’ve never dated...in like. Like this, ok? I’ve had two girlfriends. And, like, it wasn’t a good situation and I don’t- I’ve never even been on a real date. Why couldn’t you have asked Stephanie?”

“I  _ did. _ She said to ask you because  _ boys. _ ”

“Unbelievable.”

Jaime sighed. He leaned back against the door again and both boys sat in awkward silence, staring at the carpet. Conner really didn’t know why his friends couldn’t just talk like normal people. It seemed to him that normal high schoolers were insane.

“Look,” Jaime said, “I’m sorry. When I invited you I thought it would be just us, ya know. I didn’t actually realize Tim would be here. And now we’re like, actually studying.” Gone unsaid was the accusation that Conner had been the one to technically invite Tim along. Sort of.

“Tim’s not that bad.” Or maybe he was, considering the complete silence they had been working in, but Conner felt the need to defend his accidental inviting of Tim. Make your bed, lay in it and all.

Jaime sighed. He ran a hand through his hair, but some of the tension seemed to have eased out of his posture. “Yeah. It’s not really. I mean he didn’t know. I should have made it more clear. I wasn’t even really originally going to invite you. It was supposed to be just me and Bart. But I panicked.”

“Clearly.”

“We can’t all have your good looks and apparent obliviousness.”

“Ha. If you only knew.” Conner really did need to pee, but he clearly wasn’t getting out of there without doing something, so he added, “I’ll try to convince Tim to lighten up. If you have any ideas of what we could do, that would be useful.”

“Normally Bart and I play videogames-”

“Date like things Jaime. If you’re going to do this at least  _ try.” _

* * *

“You guys were gone a while,” Tim said, while still staring at his essay. Bart watched them both with big gold puppy eyes, and Conner sheepishly returned to his seat. Despite having grown better at reading him, Tim’s flat face and concentration made it impossible to tell where his head was at.

Bart turned to Jaime, “Are you ok?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. I’m great. I’m just…” a terrible liar, which really was no surprise.

Time to be a friend, Conner supposed. He leaned over into Tim’s personal space. He could sense the moment he moved too close because Tim’s muscles seized, and the boy stilled even as he refused to look up from his essay.

“Hey, Tim?” Conner didn’t have a lot of ideas as far as getting Tim to go along with Jaime’s plans for the day, so he tried the only strategy that had worked last time. “Can we take a break?”

“We barely started,” Tim said. He started writing again, and that wouldn’t do at all. Conner’s whining wasn’t as effective when the victim wasn’t looking at him. He reached out and grabbed Tim’s pen, forcing the boy to halt.

“Tim come  _ on. _ Let’s do something fun. Or at least eat.”

“I would really like to eat,” Bart said.

Jaime still hadn’t sat down. He stood behind Bart, watching Conner with comically wide eyes and generally completely failing to keep his cool. To preserve the act Conner ignored him.

“Tim, come on,” Conner said. 

Tim looked up and appeared to be seriously considering Conner’s attempts to get him to break. “We have cookies. Alfred made a batch for me to bring over.”

“I ate like half of them before you got here,” Bart said sheepishly, “But we could head to that little place around the corner. The one with the deli? There’s like, a gas station.”

Conner looked past Bart’s head at Jaime, and tried to imply with just his eyes that gas station food was no way to treat a date, but Jaime just said, “Whatever you want Bart.”

Obviously, Conner would have to do all the work himself. “Weren’t you telling me, Jaime, about a  _ great _ place a few blocks from here, that serves fried ice cream for dessert?”

Bart’s eyes lit up. “Oh, right! That cafe thing!”

“Well Tim?” Conner turned to see the Wayne boy wilt under the peer pressure. He folded in on himself, leaning back, and looking down at his homework. “I...”

“Come  _ on, _ ” Conner said. “We can split a desert and you can lecture me on the Holy Roman Empire on the way over.”

This appeared to break him. Tim closed his notebook. “All right. Fine. But we have to study later.”

* * *

Forty fahrenheit was unbearably cold to Conner’s thin blooded, Hawaii acclimated body. He layered on the borrowed fleece and hoodie from Clark, and Jason’s much more appropriate for Gotham weather leather jacket. As he pulled on the green plaid patterned fleece he caught Tim smirking at him.

“What?” Conner asked. “I’m  _ cold.” _

“Nothing,” Liar. Definitely lying. “You look good.”

Conner huffed and zipped up his hoodie and coat. Tim, being a native Gothamite, wore a simple beige sweater and what looked like skinny jeans. He dressed a little bit like some kind of magazine model,  with perfectly dark hair, a perfectly refined face, and a perfectly slim build under clothes that were clearly casual only in the sense they included jeans. It could be kind of infuriating how perfectly groomed Tim looked for a highschooler, and Conner wondered whether he actually dressed himself, given the state he had been in when he’d visited the manor. Maybe Alfred picked his clothes on school days. Maybe the Waynes had a stylist.

Conner, Tim, Jaime and Bart set out on foot. Jaime shouted something in Spanish to his mother, and with his limited education, Conner could make out the words “four” and “home”, before Mrs. Reyes popped her head out of the kitchen.

“Mijo,” she said, sounding exasperated, “Do you need money, or not?”

“I’m  _ fine. _ We’re just gonna go to the cafe around the corner. We’ll be back.”

“Are you sure? I could drive you. And then I could give you cash for the movie.”

“What movie?” Tim asked, sounding alarmed.

“Thanks Mrs. Reyes! We’ll be fine. We’ll call if we need anything,” Conner said, shoving Tim out the door, while Jaime finished saying his goodbyes to his mom.

“I didn’t agree to a movie, Conner,” Tim said, pouting petulantly as they waited on the walkway in Jaime’s front yard.

“Tim, relax. Just...take today as a chance to hang out with some friends.”

Tim sighed, “I’m not...you know I’ve been told I’m not very much fun. I could just head home if you guys don’t want to study. No need to, uh,” he paused, looking for the words, “kill the vibe?”

Tim looked kind of absolutely sad as he finished the sentence tentatively. Like he expected Conner to actually send him away for the day. “Who said you weren’t any fun?”

“Jason.”

Conner snorted. “Right. Jason. Picture of fun right there. You probably shouldn’t get your party tips from a juvenile delinquent.”

“Because you’re the picture of civil obedience.” Tim said. Tim’s humor, the more Conner got exposed to it, was exceedingly dry. If it weren’t for the fact they’d been talking for the last few months he might have thought Tim  _ meant _ what he said.

Conner puffed up a little bit. “I’ll have you know, I  _ was _ .”

“Was?”

“Before I was arrested.” 

“For what?” Tim’s eyes lit up. Conner blushed. He hadn’t meant to say it as a means to get Tim’s attention, but he most certainly had it now.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said, trying to play his sudden embarrassment off as smug.

Tim hit him lightly on the arm. “Asshole.” But it was fond. And the way Tim didn’t look away or back down, Conner had a feeling he’d be watching him all day, waiting for a slip up.

“Thanks, Mom!” Bart said cheerily to Jaime’s mom as the two walked out of the house. Jaime wore significantly more layers and Bart held up his hands to show off a pair of knitted wristers in bright red. “Aren’t these awesome? Jaime’s mom made them.”

“I’m jealous,” Conner said. And he wondered why Jaime was even freaking out. If Bart was close enough to Jaime’s family he was calling Mrs. Reyes ‘Mom’ that had to be a good sign. “Jaime, are you going to lead the way?”

Jaime looked uneasy still, and glanced towards Bart before stuttering out “Of course,” and walking ahead. Bart fell into step with him automatically. Conner waited a moment, then followed. Tim seemed to naturally fall in line with Connor. This made things much easier. Conner had been worried about keeping his end of the deal as Jaime’s wingman, but Tim looked like he was going to make it easy on him. He stayed close to Conner, even as Conner lagged behind Jaime and Bart to give the two privacy.

The neighborhood was nice, full of houses just like Jaime’s, and the sidewalk cramped and a little crooked so that Conner had to watch his step. They turned the corner of the block to a slightly busier street, and started towards the main roads. The weather was nice enough that people were out and about walking their dogs, and more than one pack of bikers passed them in the street. 

Conner hoped for a quiet, uneventful walk. Tim poked him. 

“So why were you arrested?” he asked. He kept his voice low so the other two wouldn’t hear.

“You sure are being nosy today.”

“Was it the thing with your step dad?”

“You remember that?” 

Tim shrugged and kicked at a rock on the sidewalk. “You  _ told _ me about it in the first place.”

Conner wondered at that a little. Mostly because despite his slight obsession with the Wayne’s being wackadoos, he’d never considered they, or rather Tim, would find him interesting in return. Conner, despite everything, had always found himself boring. His life could be chaotic and he reveled in the ability to rebel against any standard set for him but…

Conner was not smart. He was not clever. He was not particularly well spoken, and he caved under pressure. No, when Conner looked himself in the mirror at the end of the day, what he found was lacking.

A bitterness rose in his throat at the thought. “Well it’s not a very interesting story.”

Tim didn’t say anything at first, and Conner thought whatever moment they were having had passed when they caught up to Jaime and Bart at a stop light. But as the little man blinked on and Bart and Jaime started walking again, Tim slowed down, and Conner slowed with him.

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I…” Conner didn’t know where to begin. Funnily enough, in all his time in Gotham, no one had actually asked him  _ why _ he was there. Not even Stephanie. And now that someone was asking, and it was  _ Tim Wayne _ of all people, he found he’d never figured out a way to tell the story. In spite of himself he could feel the pangs of homesickness and deep loneliness setting in.

“Sorry.” Tim said, frowning. “I didn’t mean. I just was curious, you don’t have to.”

“No it’s fine,” Conner said, “Really. I just. Never really talk about it.”

“Why not?”

Conner finally looked over at Tim with a wry smile. He didn’t really know what to say. He felt like he might cry. 

“I didn’t want to leave,” he admitted.

Tim didn’t say anything. If anything he looked uncomfortable, and Conner regretted how much his face betrayed his emotions. He hadn’t meant to get all worked up but-

“You must miss it.”

So much. He missed it everyday. All the time. Everytime he went to sleep to thoughts of people who were no longer a part of his life, and every time he woke up with the whisper of a dream in his head. He missed it in spite of all the pain, all the betrayal. He missed it even though he’d  learned nothing, done nothing useful, and left hated by almost everyone who had known him.

“It’s so cold here,” he said instead.

Tim fell quiet again, but this time Conner was prepared for the thoughtful response that followed.

“It must have been very difficult. For you to have to have moved here. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was mostly my fault.”

“I doubt that.” Tim said it the same way he told Conner he’d gotten a question wrong in Chem or corrected his spelling. For once instead of being infuriating it was reassuring. At least  _ someone _ believed him. In him.

“Well, I do make some pretty terrible choices.”

“You haven’t even told me what you did.”

Conner grinned, beginning to feel a little more himself. “Well. I sort of got charged with five counts of felony burglary. They tried to throw more at me but uh.” Conner shrugged, “They didn’t _actually_ have anything. They were after…”

And after all this time Conner still tripped over talking about her. Tim let him pause, and Conner took a deep breath to reassemble his head.

“They were after my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Tim said.

Conner couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Bearing his soul, and all he got was an ‘oh?’ 

“Told you it was a boring story,” he said, resentment settling into the pit of his stomach.

“That’s not-” Tim said.

“Uh, right, we’re here.” Jaime and Bart stopped suddenly, forcing them to pause their conversation.

The cafe was a tiny open air place with a canopy. The indoor seating, what little of it there was, was absolutely stuffed, and the tables squeezed into the space between the cafe and the building next door were clustered around space heaters. The curly font on the top of the doorway declared it  _ Mama Rosa’s _ and Conner was delighted to see most of the tables were small, or else already taken. It made his job much easier.

“Fantastic, I’ll go grab us a table,” And Conner waltzed past them to go find the smallest table he could.

The food smelled great, but unless Conner planned to use Lex’s card, he had to be wary of spending anything. Lex already had too much dirt on him. The fact he even knew Roxy was in Metropolis made him uneasy. He slid into a minty green metal chair. The seat was cold and the paint peeling on the table. All around him families and couples were out enjoying what, for Gotham, counted as an excellent late fall day.

Tim walked up to the table, some kind of wrap in hand, and looked unamusedly down at Conner. He looked at the little two chair table and said:

“You expect all of us to fit here  _ how  _ exactly?”

Conner leaned back, spreading his arms magnanimously just as Jaime and Bart walked up with their food. “We can split. Jaime and Bart can eat at one table, we’ll eat here.”

Jaime turned red. “I really don’t think that’s necessary. I’m sure if we-”

“You’re right,” Conner said, “Tim, here.”

He scooted over and patted the seat chair. Tim went scarlet so quickly Conner almost felt bad. 

He started stuttering. “Oh. well. I don’t think. Um-”

At the same time Jaime decided the dangers of sitting at a table with Conner outweighed any danger of sitting alone with Bart and said. “Thanks, but we’ll get a table,” before steering Bart away.

Conner heard the auburn haired boy say, “I don’t  _ mind  _ sharing,” before the two were too far away to be heard over the other diners. He turned a grin back on Tim who still stood frozen, food in his hands.

“Well?” Conner asked.

But Tim just ducked his head and silently slipped into the seat across from him.

“Suit yourself,” Conner said, and readjusted. The seats were too uncomfortably small to share anyways. As Jaime and Bart sat down a couple tables over, he leaned to peer around the two families sitting between them. They looked happy. Bart was definitely chatting up a storm. He strained to try and hear what he might be saying but couldn’t make out anything over the mom at the closest table talking to her kid about his soccer game. He sighed. Jaime was being super careful to not get too close to Bart and sat stiff as a board.

Conner wondered if Jaime had ever dated  _ anyone _ before because it sure as hell didn’t look like it.

It was then he realized that the table was too quiet and he turned to see Tim staring at him. Upon being caught Tim jumped a little and turned his attention to his food. Conner smiled and leaned forward.

“See something you like?”

Tim choked on his sandwich.

* * *

Conner felt like all things considered he was doing a great job at the whole wingman thing. Granted, he’d never had to do it before, and hoped he’d never have to again, but as Jaime and Bart laughed at some inside joke ahead of them on the sidewalk, he couldn’t help but feel a little proud of his handiwork.

“Hey!” Bart called back to them. 

Tim had been acting weird and quiet all lunch, and jumped when Bart seemed to be addressing them directly.

“Tim, Conner, there’s like, a shopping center nearby. Wanna walk through before we head back?”

“Oh! I think that weird pop up amusement part is still in the parking lot.” Jaime said, “We could grab funnel cake?”

“I was thinking of that new arcade,” Bart and Jaime quickly devolved into talking about stores and places that meant little to nothing to Conner.

Quietly, so only Conner would hear, Tim said, “We really  _ should _ be studying.”

Feeling kind of bad for dragging Tim all over the place, Conner put a hand on his back and tried for his most reassuring smile. It must not have worked because Tim pretty much physically convulsed at the touch.  

“I’ll make it up to you. I swear. Just do me this favor and go along with it for the day.”

Tim bit his lip but didn’t say anything as the group crossed the street and made their way through a busy intersection towards even more stores and bars and parking meters.

* * *

“This is terrible,” Tim said, as he shoveled another bite of funnel cake into his mouth. The parking lot outside an arcade in a mall that was half strip-mall half normal mall (and all around too small to be either) had been converted into a rather sad looking amusement park. A short ferris wheel, spinning arms, and UFO shaped rides took up the rather grey and musty lot. Despite the general subpar quality, the place was packed, mostly full of kids and gangly teenagers.

“Stop eating it,” Conner said.

Tim made a face and took another bite.

“I know it’s trash, but I can eat like five of these.” Bart said. He and Tim sat on a metal bench together. Bart had insisted on sharing his funnel cake when Tim mentioned having never had any, and Jaime stood around awkwardly looking for the life of him like he didn’t know what to do.

“Jaime is there a bathroom around here?”

Jaime shrugged. “I dunno, in the mall, maybe?”

“Wanna come hunt it down with me?”

Tim’s attention snapped to them. “You guys make a habit of group bathroom trips?”

“Why, did you want to come?” Conner asked, and feeling a little more comfortable that Tim would let him, he poked the other boy in the ribs as payback for earlier. “Jealous?”

“No,” Tim scoffed. “Don’t get lost. I think Bart and I are gonna try the bungee jump.”

“Is that what that’s supposed to be?” Conner asked.

All four boys looked skeptically over at a contraption made up of four poles and a trampoline. A person was harnessed into bungee cords between each pole. One person had completely inverted and hung, flailing, while the poor polo shirted college student running the attraction tried to instruct them on how to get right sided.

Tim stood, “Come on, Bart, before the line gets too long.”

“Awesome.” Bart stood, tossing their now empty paper plate in the trash. Jaime and Conner watched them make their way through the crowd. Conner was pleased they were getting along at all, and surprised that Tim didn’t seem to find Bart more irritating, but turned to Jaime because he had priorities.

“Jaime. My man. We need to talk.”

“Conner-”

“It’s not that I don’t like helping you out. It’s really no trouble. But you’ve gotta make a move man.”

“I’m  _ trying. _ ”

“Are you though?”

The two started walking through the crowds, away from the busiest attractions, and towards the mall.

“Is there anything I can do to make it easier? Should I ask the ferris wheel guy to stop the ride at the top?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’m just saying.”

Jaime sighed. He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. They ducked into the mall, which had already started putting Christmas decorations up, and Jaime led the way down the narrow hall past some sad looking stores, towards presumably the bathrooms.

“I think things are going really well,” Jaime said at last.

“I don’t think Bart has any clue,” Conner said.

“Well. Yes.”

“So like, ask him out or something.”

“Easy for you to say.”

Conner grinned. “Really. I swear I’ve never done this before. You’re doing fine.”

Jaime stayed silent, looking sullen. Which, if Conner ever lived to see his twenties he’d have to apologize to Clark for a lot because teenage boys were the worst. 

“Look,” Conner said, trying to wrap things up as he could see the bathroom sign up ahead. “If you don’t ask him I will.”

Jaime perked up. “For me?”

“Uh uh. No way. If I do the work, I get the prize. Man up, Reyes or I’m going wine, dine and charm the pants off your date there starting as soon as I get back from the bathroom.”

Jaime spluttered and Conner darted out of range and towards the bathroom just in time.

“You’re an asshole!”

“Next time make Stephanie help you.”

* * *

Conner didn’t have to worry about charming the pants off Bart, because Tim did it for him. He and Jaime returned to the fairground to find the two of them giggling like kids while Bart waved around a comically oversized teddy bear. It stood nearly as tall as Bart’s admittedly short frame.

“Jaime! Look what Tim got me!”

Tim was flushed red from laughter, and looked over at Bart and oh boy Conner had never seen the other boy so alive. He looked giddy with it.

“Did you buy that?” Jaime asked, and if his voice sounded a little strained, well, served him right for being so slow and dragging Conner into this mess.

“What?” Tim asked, and Conner watched some of the light fade from his eyes. “I uh, no? No. I didn’t I uh-”

“Tim has killer aim,” Bart said. “I think we just won every game in this place.”

Tim flashed a grateful smile at Bart. Honestly Conner hadn’t expected the two to get along very well, but he’d have been lying to say it wasn’t nice to see Tim actually enjoying hanging out with someone. He’d been worried that maybe Tim didn’t like  _ anyone. _

“We did the hoops, darts, water guns, we shot the rubber ducks. And I don’t even know how he did the basketball because that hoop has to be rigged.”

“They have to make sure someone wins every now and then or else people would accuse them of rigging.” Tim said, not at all explaining how he won. “I can show you how to cheat a claw machine if you want.”

Bart’s eyes went wide, “ _ Really?  _ There’s one in the mall let’s-”

“Maybe after?” Conner interrupted if only for the sake of Jaime’s ever more obvious near aneurysm. “Come on, Jaime and I haven’t tried any of the rides.”

“They’re kind of lame,” Tim said, not helping at all, “The bungee jump line was too long and everything else looks like it’s not up to  safety code.”

Conner tried to give Tim a look that impressed upon him exactly how unhelpful he was being.

“Tim said he could probably scale the mall if we wanted to though,” Bart said helpfully, and Conner heard Jaime groan behind him.

“Oh my God,” Conner said, “I just remembered, Tim, come with me I want to ask you about English. Jaime, Bart, don’t wait up.” With that he reached out, grabbed Tim by the wrist, and dragged him away. He didn’t pay attention to where they went, just ducked around crowds until Jaime and Bart were out of sight and stepped into the nearest line.

“Con- Conner, hold on,” Tim wriggled free, “Is everything ok?”

Tim looked a little hurt, and for a second Conner felt bad. Tim didn’t seem like he had many friends and he and Bart had really been getting along. If Jaime didn’t make a move soon Conner knew he’d be making this up to the both of them for a long time. He checked to see what they were in line for. The rickety ferris wheel loomed above him. Great.

“Everything’s fine,” Conner said, “just dandy.”

Tim frowned. He didn’t seem to trust Conner’s word, and even though he hadn’t complained about the cold once since leaving the house, he brought his arms up and hugged himself in a universal signal of chills. He looked unhappy and now Conner felt like even more of a jerk.

“So...I’m not doing anything wrong?”

Conner blinked. “No. Of course not.”

“Well. Ok. You just seemed like- you seem unhappy.” Tim said. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans and seemed to be trying to look anywhere but Conner. “I thought...I thought you wanted me to try and be friends and stuff.”

Conner hesitated because, as usual with Tim, he wasn’t sure he knew where this conversation was going. “Well, if you like them.”

“I like them.”

“Cool.”

“Right.”

They shuffled forward in line little by little. Tim nudged him a little.

“So...you don’t have an English question?” he asked. 

Conner nudged back. “Nah. Just had to make up an excuse to get you alone.”

Tim blushed and mumbled something about Conner being a jerk. “I hope you fail.”

“Liar.”

They were loaded into a gently swaying seat by a bored looking older teen, who spouted off safety rules like he would rather be anywhere else.

“Hands in the ride at all times. No standing during the ride. Please be respectful of other passengers.”

Conner and Tim took a seat for two, and the wheel slowly creaked.

Conner could have cared less about the ride. Or the amusement park. Or generally any of their surroundings. He loved roller coasters, always had, but the only ferris wheel he had been on had ended in a make-out session with Tana back when they had first started dating and besides that, he'd never cared for slow rides. The wheel creaked and groaned as it moved, inspiring very little confidence, and Conner barely noticed as they slowly rose above the crowds.

He leaned over, perhaps a little too far, to see if he could spot Jaime and Bart in the crowd below and considered pulling out his phone to text Jaime and see if he’d made his move yet.

Snap.

Conner jerked and the seat rocked, and Tim smiled a little bit. He was holding up his phone, and lowered it slowly.

“Sorry,” he moved to take a picture, this time of the city skyline and not Conner, but Conner leaned over to catch a peek at the picture Tim had taken. Tim hesitantly held it out. Conner diffuse lit by the grey-white light of a late autumn Gotham sky, looked out over the crowds below with a face so serious Conner couldn’t believe it was actually him.

“Do I always look that angry? Why are you taking pictures of me.”

“Yes.” Tim said, with a wry smile. “Well you didn’t come to Homecoming with me, so I don’t have one of you. Not as fancy as film but-”

Conner laughed and pulled out his own phone. “Ok, that’s fine, we can get your fancy camera later.”

He scooted closer to Tim, rocking the seat, and turned on his front facing camera. “I look too serious in that one. Here. Smile.”

He held up his phone. They were nearing the top of the ride and Tim simply looked at Conner with his incredulous blue eyes.

“What?” Conner asked. “Too good for a selfie?”

Conner watched Tim physically bite down a retort before relenting and scooting closer. Tim felt  _ cold _ even through the many layers. He put an arm around his shoulder and held the camera up higher.

“They key to a good selfie is the angle,” Conner told him.

“I’m sure.”

He snapped the picture, right as Tim finished talking with a look on his face caught halfway between amused and surly. He grinned as he showed Tim.

“I look stupid.”

“You look great.” He pulled away and tapped send on the picture, “And now you have a picture of the two of us. To makeup for homecoming. And I’m sure everyone will be at prom.”

“Yeah. Prom.” 

Tim got all sad and quiet again, but Conner couldn’t really help that. He honestly didn’t know what it was sometimes that got Tim in that mood, but at least he had stopped taking it personally. As the ride began to descend, he shucked of his, technically Jason’s, coat.

“Here.”

Tim blinked up at him. “Excuse me?”

“You’re freezing to death. I can feel it from here.”

“It’s 42 degrees Conner,” Tim said, but accepted the jacket anyways. And he was smiling again, so Conner counted it as a win. “So what movie are we seeing tonight?”

* * *

Jaime beamed at Conner when they finally reconnected on the ground. He shot him a discreet thumbs up over Bart’s head, and Conner took that to be a good sign. And then they got to the movies.

The theater sat on the opposite side of the mall. It was only four, but Jaime had a skip in his step as he led them through the building to the ticket stands. And Conner was happy for them, really.

“...it’s like, an inversion of the typical haunted house set up. Plus the main character is blind and I hear they do cool stuff with that,” Jaime said.

“I don’t know about horror movies,” Bart said.

“There’s a new western style movie about a bank heist. I really wanted to see that,” Tim scanned the movie times above the ticket counter and Bart meanwhile shifted restlessly.

“Oh,” Jaime said. “Sorry, I didn’t really ask. Did you guys want to see something else?”

“I don’t care,” Conner said honestly. He enjoyed neither horror or whatever heist film Tim was on about, but then he saw Bart gesturing wildly behind Jaime’s back. His arms flailed, and his meaning was entirely lost to Conner, and when Jaime turned to face him, question in his eyes, Bart blurted.

“Horror’s fine!” 

After buying the tickets, Bart got in line for concessions and Jaime went to save them seats. Tim was the first to speak, looking deeply concerned for his new friend, he reached out and tapped Bart on the shoulder.

“Everything ok Bart?”

Bart spun around. He flailed again.

“You’re gonna have to use your words,” Conner said.

_ “Jaime asked me out.” _

“That’s great!” Conner said as Tim said “I don’t get it.”

Conner spared a look at Tim, who looked exasperated, and Bart waved his arms with even more drama.

“Guys, guys, guys, you  _ don’t understand.” _

“What’s the problem?” Conner said, feeling his heart sink. He didn’t know how he would break the news to Jaime if it turned out all this had been for nothing.

_ “I thought we were already dating. What am I supposed to do?” _

Tim had the nerve to laugh, but politely covered it up by clearing his throat and asking, “What do you mean?”

“We’ve been dating for like two months,” Bart said, “Like since Homecoming.”

“So barely a month.” Tim said.

“Hold on, since homecoming? Then why is Jaime freaking out?” Conner asked.

“Jaime’s freaking out?” Bart asked, panic-stricken. “Oh God I knew something like this would happen. Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid-” _

“Hold on,” Tim said, grabbing Bart’s wrist to stop him from tearing out his hair in frustration, “What’s the problem?”

“The problem is I’ve never been on a date-Hell, I’m so bad at dating I didn’t tell the person I was dating we were dating and now I have to go on our first date? How are you not freaking out?”

“It’s actually pretty funny,” Conner said, “Because Jaime told me earlier he needed moral support to ask you out. Literally that’s the only reason I’m here.”

“Oh my God,” Bart said, curling in on himself.

“Not helpful, Conner,” Tim said, then turned to comfort Bart, “I mean. At least you know the feeling’s mutual.”

“Oh my God I’m doomed. Why am I terrible at this?”

“You’re going to be fine,” Tim said, “Come on, I’ll buy you the infinite refill popcorn.”

Bart looked up with golden eyes shiny with unshed tears. “Really?”

“Really. And Conner will give you dating tips while we wait, right Conner?”

Conner sent Tim his best,  _ I’ll-get-you-for-this  _ look and Tim returned with a withering  _ if-you-hurt-him-I-will-hold-you-accountable _ stare before he left them to go talk to the cashier. Conner turned to Bart, who looked like he was calming down.

“So, what are you worried about?”

“Mostly about the fact my best friend, who I thought was also my boyfriend, is not my boyfriend. And now I have a  _ second _ opportunity to mess everything up. I nearly thought I did the first time, ya know? He didn’t talk to me for days after homecoming but then we were getting along again and I just sort of assumed…” Bart shrugged. “This sucks. And by the way you suck for not telling me.”

“Sorry,” Conner said, and he meant it, “If I had known I probably wouldn’t have kept ditching you today.” Bart smiled, and Conner added. “For what it’s worth, he was totally freaking out. You should have seen his face. I threatened to ask you out if he didn’t.”

Bart snickered. “Conner, please. And what if I said not interested?”

Conner mock gasped, “ _ Bartholomew,  _ please. My heart can’t take it.”

Bart giggled, and shook out his shoulders like he did before a race. “All right. I guess this could be worse.”

“So much worse,” Tim said, appearing magically with the largest tub of popcorn Conner had ever seen. “At least you  _ know _ he likes you back. Now all you have to do is go along with it.” He handed Bart the popcorn, “Also for what it’s worth, I  _ also _ thought you were dating after homecoming. It’s weird to me that that flew over his head.”

“Stephanie says boys are oblivious walnuts.” Bart said.

“She’s also the one who told Jaime to ask me for wingman help, so there you go,” Conner said.

Bart smiled and held up the popcorn, “Well then, I guess I’m gonna go rescue my not-boyfriend. Thanks for the snacks Tim. You’re like, my hero.”

Bart turned and started towards the theater.

“You want anything?” Tim asked, already reaching for his wallet again.

“Nah.” Conner said. He watched Bart’s retreating form and turned to look at Tim. Tim looked a little tired, but generally in good spirits, and his blue eyes turned to meet Conner’s. 

“What?” he asked.

Tim looked good in Jason’s too big coat, cheeks still pink from a day of laughter and cold. Conner shrugged.

“Well. I still feel like I owe you one. Wanna theater hop over to that western you were talking about?”

“It’s more a neo-western.” But Tim’s eyes lit up even as he corrected Conner and they walked over to the other side of the theater. Conner relaxed, and though he didn’t follow the movie at all, found for the first time all day he wasn’t worried about what the others were up to.

They’d sort themselves out without him.

* * *

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Reyes,” Conner said.

It was dark out. Conner had stayed at the Reyes’ for a little too long after the film, but at ten thirty had finally been dragged out by a reminder from Tim to be responsible. The last he had seen them, Bart and Jaime had been playing Monopoly in the living room with Jaime’s sister Milagro and Jaime’s mom. It had been painfully sweet, and stirred the sort of emotions in Conner that he knew he’d have to stomp out quickly or risk a week of moodiness.

Tim had also left, a black car having pulled up outside the house just before Conner had asked for his ride. Tim had offered, of course, to give Conner a ride home repeatedly, but Conner had turned him down.

“If you want to study tomorrow, we can,” He added. 

Tim had shrugged, “My schedule can be kind of rough. Can I text you? If Bruce says it’s ok…?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Conner said, even as he felt his heart sink a little. It was a small thing. A silly thing. But he had been kind of looking forward to making up his lost study time with Tim.

Mr. Reyes dropped him outside his apartment building and drove off. Conner could hear the neighbors shouting. Home sweet home.

His foot had just hit the first step when he heard it. A sound like someone was rifling through something in the alley between his apartment building and the next. He tried to make out more of his surroundings in the yellow lamplight, but saw very little except for a trail of garbage and water stains in the pavement.

Now Conner had seen  _ some _ horror movies. And he was no leading actress. In fact with his looks, he probably was the douchey guy who died at the start of the movie, who everyone hated. So he should have known better. Instead, he took out his phone, a part of his mind whispering about the dangers of Gotham and the Bat, and quietly made his way to the mouth of the alley.

Silent as he could, footsteps masked by the sound of his rowdy downstairs neighbors, he peered around the corner. A dark shape loomed at the end of alley, and Conner’s only thought was that Gotham had a bear problem after all, before glowing red eyes snapped up to meet his.

He might have screamed, he definitely scrambled back, even as part of him tried to unlock his phone.

And then a shadowy figure, a person not a monster, flew down from the roof like a bullet, landing on the creature’s back. It screamed, an unearthly sound unlike anything Conner had ever heard, and then a very familiar voice said:

“Run!”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Jonaira beta reads/fixed my nonsense typos and is great? And does ART? [LOOK](https://jonairadreaming.tumblr.com/post/181929667475/he-snapped-the-picture-right-as-tim-finished)
> 
> What a great human.
> 
> Also yeah, here's that left I was talking about. Going to need a little time to get the next one out, sadly, BUT HEY. MORE THAN HALF WAY THERE.  
> And it's amazing in hindsight how much of Twilight was boring school stuff.


	15. Interrogations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conner was feeling pretty good after a day of fun at Jaime's. But nothing can ever be simple with Tim involved, can it?

The monster with red eyes stopped howling and lunged at its surprise assailant. Its attacker, an attacker wearing Tim’s clothes with Tim’s voice and oh God what was happening?- simply bounced off its back, landing with the grace of a dancer as Conner regained the ability to use his legs.

But not quickly enough. The creature screamed again and lunged. This time at Conner.

And then a shadow flung itself between Conner and his would-be attacker. Oppressively tall, dressed entirely in black, a low voice said. “Get him out of here now!”

Tim, who had once again descended from a roof just in time to save Conner’s life, dodged past the fighting, grabbed Conner’s wrist, and physically pulled him from the scene.

Too much adrenaline pumped in his blood for Conner to register much of what happened to him. Instead he found himself drawn to Tim’s jacket. His jacket. Jason’s jacket. Familiar. He could breathe if he thought about that.

They walked, and it was too dark out to see where so Conner trust Tim knew where he was going. He followed blindly. He didn’t fight when he was shoved into the backseat of a car. Or when it started moving.

“Are you ok?” 

All of Conner’s world narrowed to the hands in front of him. Pale, reaching out nervously. Conner’s vision swam with the motion of the car.

He looked up.

Tim still looked much the same. Somehow Conner thought he might look different.

“Oh my God,” he said instead. “Oh my God.”

“You’re freaking out Conner,” Tim said.

The car had tan leather seats, shiny wood panelling, and small red blinking lights in the doors. And if Tim was in the backseat with him…

“Who?” He turned. 

In the rearview mirror Jason smirked and waved at him. “Nice of you to join us, Mr. Kent.”

“What the  _ hell  _ is-”

“Hold on!” Jason said. He reached out to the dashboard, which held an array of knobs, dials and buttons.

“Jason don’t!”

Too late. Conner didn’t see what he hit but he was slammed back into his seat with the force of their acceleration. The exceedingly dark tinted windows let him see only that the lights outside were passing in a blur, before Jason turned the steering wheel and Conner was thrown into the door, jolting his shoulder and leaving a bruise.

Tim cursed, and Conner for once was on Tim’s side. Jason was an ass.

“We need to slow down.” Tim slid, a little uncomfortably, back into his seat and reached for a belt buckle. Conner blindly reached for his own when Jason made another sharp turn.

“What’s that?” Jason cried, one fingerless gloved hand reaching out to flip them off as the radio sputtered to life. “I can’t hear you, baby bird!”

Conner couldn’t hear anything over the incredibly loud base. His seat thrummed, and he could feel the vibration deep in his skull behind his eyes. The lights outside flashed on and off, like they were moving through a tunnel, making Tim look like a series of stop motion images as he shouted something that got lost in the noise.

Too much. Conner squeezed his eyes shut, but couldn’t stop  _ feeling _ the way the light, the sound, constantly moved around him. He couldn’t tell if he was still dizzy or-

The car screeched, and Conner’s stomach lurched as they came to a complete stop. When the engine died, it took several moments for Conner to realize the music had stopped. He could still feel the echoes of the base in his chest. He tried to breath.

“Conner?”

It felt cool, like someone had opened a car door, and Tim’s whisper was feather light. Conner still didn’t open his eyes. He needed to breathe. It felt like the world was still moving.

“Up, Kent. You need to come with us.”

Conner’s eyes snapped open at that. The car  _ had  _ stopped. Where, Conner had no idea, it was too dark. Both Waynes had gotten out of the car. Tim knelt awkwardly in front of him, and Jason stood behind him looking annoyed. 

Tim held his hands out gingerly, not touching, just hovering right where Conner could see him like Conner was some kind of scared animal.

If Conner’s brains hadn’t been utterly  _ scrambled _ already he might have been smarter about the whole thing, but he just flipped Jason off.

“Not with you. Not anywhere.”

Jason grinned. “Feisty. You know you almost got eaten, right? You’re lucky Timbo here-”

“Enough Jason,” Tim said. There was less venom in his voice than usual, and he looked tired as he turned to his brother and added, “You’ll make things worse.”

Tim kept his voice low. And Jason, thankfully, finally shut up. Conner began to regain his sense of balance as Tim turned back to him. “What do you remember?”

Conner frowned at this question. “A big monster in an alley? You were on the roof again.”

Tim sighed. “Anything else?”

“What is going on?”

“You were attacked. We just needed to get you away from the scene. Everything’s fine-”

“Oh no you don’t.” Conner reached out and grabbed both Tim’s hovering hands. Tim startled, but didn’t pull away. “We’re not doing this again. I know something is weird about your family. So start talking.”

“Or else what?” Jason asked. He smirked like he thought this was one of his shoplifting games. Like he could get away with anything and Bruce would pay it off. It made Conner want to punch him in the face.

“Or else my Dad’s a reporter. An investigative reporter. So fuck you.”

Both boy’s tensed at Conner’s words. A silent look passed between them that Conner didn’t like at all.

“Conner,” Tim said, and there he went talking like Conner was some kind of scared animal again, “What do you...think you know about us?”

Conner felt the anger, the frustration of the last several weeks bubbling to the surface. “I know you’ve been an  _ ass _ to me since you met me. Your dad is some kind of billionaire freak who let’s you get away with anything. I know you’re  _ bulletproof _ , skulk around on rooftops, and lie constantly. And we all know what kind of weird things are happening in Gotham at night so-”

“And what do you think it means?” Tim and Jason both looked at Conner, attention unwavering. 

Conner didn’t back down even though his list of evidence wore thin. “It’s the Bat right? Whatever you’re hiding, it has to do with all the homeless murders and the Bat that creeps around Crime Alley?”

Tim recoiled. “I-”

Jason, oddly enough, came to his rescue. He knelt, hand on Tim’s shoulder, with a soft, “Hey.”

Conner watched Tim take a deep breath to steady himself and couldn't believe it. After all the time he spent agonizing. Tim’s reaction spoke volumes.

Or maybe this was all a dream he would wake up from any minute. Regardless, he couldn’t help but add,

“I don’t condone the killing of people, guys.” An understatement, but Conner felt it was justifiable. He was in shock.

Jason snorted. “Well we didn’t do that, obviously.”

“Obviously?” Conner asked. “Then what do you eat?”

Tim whipped his head up to look at Conner.  _ “Excuse me?” _

Conner just raised his eyebrows. “You know, for food?”

Silence, as both boys just stared at him. 

“Like do you drink animal blood or…?”

Jason cackled. Tim whirled around and punched him in the arm. 

_ “This isn’t funny!” _ he hissed.

Now Conner felt concerned. If they weren’t eating the homeless, he had to assume the monster in the alley was. Which still left a lot of questions but-

“We drink racoon blood,” Jason said, still grinning. He jumped up to avoid any further violence from Tim. “Sometimes a possum if we can catch ‘em for that sweet, sweet rabies immunity-”

Tim spun around to Conner, looking stricken,  _ “We do not! _ We eat normal food-”

“Vampires can do that?”

At this point Jason lost it, clutching his stomach as he bent over on the pavement. Tim looked mortified.

“He’s never going to let me live this down,” Tim said, but appeared to mostly be talking to himself. 

Conner sat, bemusedly watching the two as Jason, between huffs, said he needed to tell  _ everyone  _ and pulled out his phone. 

“Conner,” Tim said at last, “You should come with us. We need to get you home.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you two start explaining- what is so funny?”

Jason had calmed to an occasional chuckle, and Conner, even with his half a brain, had a sneaking suspicion he was missing some incredibly vital, obvious information.

“Conner-” Tim sounded exasperated. 

“Now hold on,” Jason said. He still smiled like he might bust into laughter any minute, but he came closer to put a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“We’re not talking about this,” Tim said quickly, standing and gesturing for Conner to follow.

Conner crossed his arms. “I said I’m not going anywhere.”

“Tim,” Jason’s smile faded, “Tim, come on, let’s talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about? He doesn’t know anything.” Tim said, turning away so Conner couldn’t see his face. 

“Look, Bruce isn’t here right now. We don’t have to-”

“Absolutely not.”

“All I’m  _ saying _ is, it wouldn’t really be our fault— I mean he couldn’t blame us if Conner were to, perhaps, have overheard something?  _ Seen _ something he wasn’t supposed to?”

Tim didn’t move, and Jason appeared to be scanning his face, gauging whatever reaction Conner couldn’t see.

“Tim, it’s either that, or we have to cut him out entirely. You  _ know _ Bruce is going to-”

Tim tensed, “But that’s not fair.”

“I know that. But that’s how Bruce is.”

Now that he had time to get his bearings, Conner could see they were in a driveway. They had to have driven under the river, and when he looked up, Wayne Manor loomed above them looking as imposing and decrepit as ever. Yellow light shone out of the tiny downstairs windows but Alfred did not emerge. The stars couldn’t be seen though whether it was light pollution or Gotham clouds he couldn’t tell at night. It had also gotten cold, and Conner slid further back into the car.

On the ground, mostly covered in shadow, Jason put an arm around Tim’s shoulder. “I’m not going to pretend I’ve been a good brother to you. I know that. But listen, Tim, you’ve got to stop doing this to yourself. No one wants to see you grow up to be Bruce.”

Something about the conversation, it’s tone, the way both Jason and Tim had gone tender all of sudden, made the entire thing too intimate. Conner didn’t want to look or listen in, but there was no where for him to go. He stared at their backs.

“I don’t know…”

“Just one little slip up. Bruce said too much. He saw too much already. We decided to take him back to the manor. And that was the end of it.”

Tim looked back over at Conner. The sudden eye contact burned but Conner didn’t look away. He needed to know what was going on. At last Tim looked at Jason.

“Ok.” He turned to look at Conner. “Can you tell Clark you’re staying the night?”

His fingertips felt numb. His skull still buzzed. If Conner died in the next twenty four hours, he’d have no one to blame but himself. He fumbled his phone out of his pocket.

He’d never had great self preservation skills anyway. 

* * *

The manor seemed more alive at night than it had during the day. The warm yellow light of a tiffany lamp in the foyer greeted them, and Alfred nodded as if he had expected Conner.

“I shall prepare a guest room,” he said.

Conner still couldn’t decide if he’d been dead on the mark, or beyond wrong, but he accepted the water handed to him, and let himself be led to his new room. He was unsurprised to even find PJs in his size.

“Bruce will want someone to keep an eye on him,” Jason said, pulling on his coat as he appeared at the end of the hallway. 

Tim paused where he stood outside Conner’s room. “You’re heading back out?” 

“Someone has to. Keep Bruce out of trouble.” And with a two finger salute Jason was gone.

Tim sighed.

“So, I guess I’m not getting any answers today?” Conner asked. He stepped into the guest room, and Tim lingered in the doorway. Conner wondered if Tim actually planned to stay and watch him all night  as he slipped out of his shirt and into the pajamas.

Tim looked away. “You can ask me anything you want.”

“I take it, from Jason’s reaction, you aren’t a vampire?”

Conner turned to catch Tim trying to hide a smile. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Bruce would like people to think so.”

“So you guys are...what pretending to be vampires?”

“More or less.” Tim shrugged, “Not really into haematophilia, personally.”

“Right.”

Conner stared at the freshly made bed. Though the room had been prepared, he could still tell no one had used it in a long, long time. Tall, skinny windows with heavy velvet curtains gave a view of the black forest surrounding the Wayne estate. Conner could feel the weight of exhaustion in his shoulders and slowly pulled back the covers.

Tim stepped into the room, footsteps silent, and gently closed the door behind him. He slid to the floor and sat cross legged against the door frame.

Conner watched, taking a seat on the bed. “How long do you plan to stay?”

“Until you’re asleep.”

“You think I’ll go running off?”

Tim shrugged. “I think Jason is right. And I don’t want to be out there when Bruce gets home.”

“You make him sound terrible.”

“He’s not,” Tim said, and he leaned his head back, closing his eyes, “But when he gets back I can’t promise he won’t make me never speak to you again. Jason’s ideas are always terrible.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Conner said.

Tim opened his eyes. He didn’t look happy. He looked like someone had sapped all the life out of him over the course of years and had left a barely functioning machine in its place. He smiled, but it was strained. Conner couldn’t help the way his heart clenched.

He forgot, sometimes, that Tim was unbearably pretty, but at the thought of not ever speaking to him again it rushed back to the forefront of his mind. It didn’t seem right Tim could look so thoroughly exhausted. Conner had spent an agonizing two or three months trying to figure Tim out, and to have that torn away felt unfair. 

Conner sighed. He was tired, but he didn’t want to sleep without his answers. “You keep implying that you aren’t supposed to tell me things. Or do things. What is that?”

“There’s no telling anyone. Especially outside the family.”

“And what is it you aren’t supposed to tell me, exactly?”

Tim hesitated. He looked almost pained with his next sentence. “Bruce...isn’t a normal person.”

“This isn’t the part where you tell me Bruce is a vampire, right?”

For the first time, instead of looking exasperated or even amused, Tim looked deadly serious. He looked at Conner like he thought the boy might be lying. It reminded Conner of when they first met.

“You really have no idea what’s going on?” Tim asked at last.

“None. You could turn me out of here right now and all I’d have to tell Clark is that you guys are weird and there’s an animal on the loose.”

Tim bit his lip. Conner worried his honesty just cost him his answers, but at last Tim relaxed, settling into an almost meditative pose. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

* * *

Conner rarely slept well. Since childhood he had been a restless sleeper, made more restless when he’d left Lex’s carefully structured life. He’d frequently stayed up in Hawaii until the light of the morning broke over the horizon, only to get maybe three hours of sleep before being  shaken awake by Rex or the truancy officer.

With Clark things weren’t much better. He had weird dreams, a creaky bed, and neighbors who didn’t know how to keep it down. 

So he was more surprised than everyone when he awoke Sunday morning gradually, coming into awareness as the white morning light filtered through his windows. He felt warm, but comfortably so, and resisted becoming fully conscious for as long as possible until the sun became too much to ignore and he opened his eyes, reaching for his phone on instinct.

“Holy hell-!”

“Sorry, sorry!” Tim ducked out of the way from where he’d been sitting in a thin wooden chair by the window.

Conner sat fully up and glared. “You’re a real freak, you know that?”

Tim dressed like a normal teenager instead of a model today. His shirt was grey, but faded like it might have once been black, and about three sizes too large. It might have been one of his older brothers. He wore sweatpants instead of jeans, and generally didn’t look like he planned on leaving the house. It was kind of funny how Tim could go from runway ready to utter disaster overnight.

In his hands Tim held a box, and there was a backpack on the floor that wasn’t Conner’s. Conner looked at him expectantly. Tim may have been weird, but Conner didn’t know him to be someone who did things without a reason.

“I thought you could ask your questions today?” Tim said holding up the box gingerly. When Conner made to get out of the bed he added, “There will be conditions, of course.”

“Like what?”

“You can’t tell anyone else. And...and you have to let me ask anything I want in return.”

All the Wayne’s secrets for the price of a few more lies to Clark and Conner’s own boring backstory? He grinned as he got up. “Deal.”

“You’re taking this remarkably well,” Tim said. 

He found the guest bathroom in a tucked away corner and waved Tim off. 

“Give me ten minutes.”

The bathroom was fully stocked with toiletries, but unlike Lex’s there was something incredibly mundane about it. The toothbrush looked generic, and the shower was limited to a body scrub and two-in-one shampoo. Combined with the ancient pipes and creaky toilet Conner almost felt at home. He finally checked his phone as he waited for the shower to heat up.

**Clark: I hope you have fun :) Call me when you need a ride home or if you need me to bring an overnight bag.**

It was oddly jarring to see such a normal message after the night before. At least as far as he could tell his neck remained free of fang marks. That had to be a good sign.

He scrubbed down as quickly as possible, toweling off his hair and pulling on yesterday’s T-shirt. The anticipation manifested as an odd sort of nervousness, that had him hesitating at the doorknob.

But it was just Tim. And honestly given the year he’d been having so far, what could Tim possibly say that would make it worse? He opened the door.

Tim sat cross legged on his bed, sipping a steaming coffee that must have been delivered while Conner was in the shower. The small, grey box lay open in front of him, and he seemed to be sorting through papers. Conner crept closer to see an array of photos. Tim smiled up at him.

“Seat?”

Conner quickly took his place beside Tim, and waited for the other boy to speak.

“So I guess...I’m not really sure how to do this. Is there a place you want me to start?” Tim asked, looking up at Conner and leaving the photos spread out on the mattress.

“What was that thing last night? Who else was in that alley?”

Tim’s head tilted as he thought over how to answer Conner’s question. “Before I say anything...you  _ have _ to agree to secrecy. Even if you decide to never talk to me again-”

“Why would I do that?” and at Tim’s amused look, “Look you’re a jerk but we still have Chemistry together. I’m not going to ignore you.”

“You say that now.”

Conner really sometimes wanted to grab Tim by the shoulders and give him a good shake. But the feeling wasn’t new, so he scowled, put one hand over his heart and held the other up, palm towards Tim.

“I swear, on my life, on my mother’s life, I won’t tell a soul. Trust me I’m good at secrets.”

Tim bit his lip, but nodded, and Conner lowered his hands. 

“All right. The thing in the alley was a monster-”

“I  _ knew  _ it.”

Tim looked at him with a deep scowl. “You know, most people don’t celebrate this sort of thing. Besides we don’t know what it is. It’s not a known animal. It’s strong, faster than the human eye, and can vanish seemingly without a trace.” Tim paused, then sighed. “And has been know to drain the bodies of blood, though we’ve interrupted it several times before.”

“So are you guys vampire hunters?” Conner asked. The idea of the Wayne’s dressed in black leather, hurling stakes and molotov cocktails got him slightly more excited than he knew he should be. Self preservation be damned, vampire hunting seemed cool.

“No,” Tim laughed, but it was more a nervous sort of laughter. “Do you know anything about the founding families of Gotham?”

“No,” Conner lied. He didn’t like the idea of confessing to the inordinate amount of time he had spent googling the Waynes and vampires in general. Tim put down his coffee on the bedside table.

“Well,” Tim said, “Gotham is an old city. Very old. And the secrets here run deep. There’s magic and monsters in this place that I didn’t think could ever exist.”

“So like a hellmouth?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s” Conner’s hands floated in front of him in a gesture that was meant to imitate a hole, “A place where supernatural monsters happen? Like in _ Buffy the Vampire Slayer _ .”

“Real people died,” Tim said.

“Right,” Conner said, quickly putting his hands down as a flush ran up his neck.

“I guess it’s not a terrible analogy. Given the sort of stuff we’ve run into,” Tim said. “But the point I think I’m trying to make is that the Wayne family had — has — a long history. A history dealing with those sorts of things. Protecting Gotham from them. When his parents died, Bruce thought it might have been supernatural. And by the time he’d ruled that out, well, stare into the abyss it stares into you or whatever.”

He spared his photos a look, hands wandering over the bed, across the images. Conner followed the movement of his hands.

The pictures were varied. Some looked like they had been printed out on normal printer paper, others Conner recognized as the fancy photo paper that meant Tim had developed them himself. Some could have been newspaper clippings. The contents were as diverse as the images themselves. Some showed blurry figures, taken from strange angles. Others just a shadow passing the lens. And some could have been family portraits.

“I figured...I’m not very good sometimes, with you, at explaining things. I thought the pictures would help,” Tim said, landing on blurry photo and picking it up gingerly. “This is from the day Dick’s parents died. I was there because I liked to take pictures of the acrobats. I couldn’t have been more than eight. The trapeze was tampered with. They fell to their deaths. No one was ever held responsible.”

He put down the image of a well lit arena floor flooded with people too far away and washed out to recognize and pointed at a newspaper clipping.

“And that’s the day Bruce announced to the papers he was taking him in. Just like that.” Tim picked it up and laid it side by side with the image from the night at the circus.

“This is Jason’s first mugshot. He doesn’t know I have a copy,” Tim said, and held up a small, printed picture with a smile. Whether he showed it or not, Tim had clearly adored Jason once. The image held a disheveled, much younger, scrawnier Jason, who glared at the camera. Tim held onto it even as he pointed to another one.

“Those are the photos released to the press from when Duke’s parents went missing — and these are the first pictures I ever took of Cass”

“It’s dark.” Conner said, squinting at the nearly black polaroid.

“She was trying to kick me off the roof of a building.”

Conner frowned down at the bed. Now that he had the some background on the Waynes and Gotham and just Tim in general, the pictures began to form a loose narrative. They swam together. Images of missing persons, of dead bodies, two shadowy figures on a rooftop, blood splatter in an alley. And from them emerged an unsettling pattern. 

“So, what, your parents die in a terrible accident, and then Bruce Wayne conveniently shows up? And in exchange for fighting vampires you, what, get to live in a mansion?”

“Not exactly,” Tim said, with a not at all reassuring smile. He at last put down the picture of Jason. “I actually tailed him and Dick and Jason for weeks accusing them of being all sorts of things. Criminals mainly. Before Bruce got sick of it. And then Jason got himself in trouble and I-”

Tim stopped short. And smiled apologetically when Conner gestured for him to continue.

“Sorry. It’s not like, a secret monster thing. I just think Jason would want me to keep it between us.”

That didn’t sit right with Conner but he decided to let it go. Tim looked at him expectantly. “Anymore questions?”

“So the Wayne family, if we use the Buffy metaphor, you guys are like, totally the slayers. And the vampires—”

“Not just vampires.”

“Right. You definitely will have to explain that, but the monsters are the monsters and vampires. Alfred would be Giles. And I guess that would make the other families of Gotham…”

“The Watchers Council. But to be fair Bruce is very hush hush on that. I think the only family I know of for sure is the Kanes.”

Conner beamed at Tim wordlessly.

“What?”

“You nerd. I knew you had to have seen it.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “You know I should send you away now. You clearly have no common sense. You should be telling me I’m crazy and leaving.”

Conner shrugged. “I mean, this is definitely the most interesting thing that’s happened to me so far. But I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Any other questions?”

“Tons.”

“Well?”

“How are you bulletproof?”

Tim blushed and folded his hands neatly in front of him, like propriety could protect him from Conner’s questions. “Promise you won’t get mad?”

“I make no such promises.”

Tim lifted his oversized shirt to reveal a layer of black underneath.

“I cannot believe you,” Conner said.

“To be fair,” Tim said, “I did almost get shot for real. I was just lucky the guy’s aim was terrible and it mostly grazed. This stuff is thinner than the usual stuff and I really—”

“The usual stuff? Do you always wear bulletproof vests?”

“Well, almost always.” And at Conner’s look of horror, “Oh, seriously,  _ that’s _ what freaks you out?” 

Conner leaned forward and pressed his hand against the kevlar vest, and Tim jumped a little. It was a rough material, and honestly didn’t seem comfortable to be wearing all the time.

“You aren’t joking.” Conner said.

“This is dangerous. My family is dangerous.” 

Conner looked up. Tim watched him as he slowly drew back. “This makes me Xander doesn’t it?”

* * *

What should have been breakfast turned into lunch by the time Conner and Tim made their way out of the room. Conner still dressed in pajama pants, and Tim looking chipper despite the fact he’d shown Conner at least two knives hidden on his person.

“Better safe than sorry,” Tim had said, the entire time looking at Conner like he though this might be the thing to scare him away. The way Tim talked about it, the monster hunting business was far more mundane than Conner would have imagined.

“No silver bullets?”

“No,” Tim huffed. “Sometimes we...dabble in more metaphysical things. But Bruce always says people who go too far down that path aren’t the same. He also dated a witch once so there’s that.”

Conner had already decided he was committed to seeing whatever this was through to the end. He pestered Tim with questions on their way to the kitchen. How long had he been doing this? What sort of monsters had he seen? When would they stop? 

Tim took it well for the most part, tripping up only when asked about future plans to halt all vampire hunting activities.

“If we don’t do it who will?”

“Uh, you could call the cops like normal people?”

“I don’t think you’ve fully grasped the enormity of the problem here.”

Still it didn’t discourage Conner. He found that something between him and Tim seemed to have clicked. Tim no longer cut his answers short, or hedged when talking about his family. In fact he seemed pleased to be able to regale Conner with each of their unique stories.

He learned about the Flying Graysons, and the circus. About Jason Todd thinking he could rob a billionaire and get away with it. 

He learned that Cassandra’s name was Cassandra Cain Wayne and her father had been one of the metaphysical dabblers Tim seemed less than keen on. That she couldn’t speak but could always tell if you were lying.

He learned Duke’s parents had been found, but sadly they were not the same. And he learned, most surprising of all, that Damian was actually Bruce’s son. He didn’t ask whether the woman in some of the family photos was his mother. It didn’t seem polite. And he could tell from the low tone Tim used that Damian being Bruce’s blood child clearly was a point of tension.

Tim, in fact wouldn’t shut up about his family as they wandered into the kitchen looking for food, only for one half dressed Dick Grayson to jump like he’d been caught doing something bad, spilling his drink.

“Tim?” Dick said. Dick was not wearing a shirt, and his bedhead suggested a late start to the day. Conner tried not to stare, but it was hard, because there were thin but noticeable scars crawling up the right side of Dick’s body. Dick’s eyes narrowed at Conner, and didn’t leave him even as he addressed Tim. “He’s still here?”

“It was Jason’s idea.”

“Of course it was. B won’t be happy.”

Tim shuffled awkwardly. Both him and Conner stood in the doorway. Conner wasn’t going anywhere without Tim’s say so, and Tim appeared to still be trying to gauge Dick’s reaction.

Dick offered them both a weary smile. “Excuse me, I’m normally a morning person, actually, but I was out late last night.”

“Sorry,” Tim said, “I didn’t know.”

“It’s nothing, just keep this one away from Bruce for the time being, I’ll try to run damage control as soon as I—” He trailed off as they all heard a door slam from somewhere in the house.

“Well then,” Dick said, and in one motion he leapt across the kitchen table and pushed past Conner and Tim.

Tim watched him go. “We should hide.”

“Ok, no offense, but you’re making Bruce sound like a top tier douche.” 

“You know, it’s not really Bruce I’m worried about.” 

That’s when the shouting started.

* * *

“You’re just in time,” Duke said.

He lurked outside in the hallway by the entrance to the foyer. In the next room Jason had paused in his ranting. Duke looked Conner up and down and seemed neither surprised nor perturbed by his presence.  

He nodded to Conner. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d join us.”

“You’re the one giving Jason ideas then,” Tim said. He didn’t seem upset at Duke but Conner could tell he was missing information again.

“I plead the fifth. Not that Jason ever needed my help. I already told him not to pick a fight but you can see how well that went. Tell me you have a plan?”

“You tell me,” Tim said with a crooked smile before walking into the room.

Conner knew Jason was angry. Happy kids didn’t steal for fun and get punched in the face during homecoming. Jason had to be nine kinds of trouble, but it still startled him to see Jason waving his arms and moving about the room like he’d been caged in. Dick’s attempts to draw closer further aggravated him.

“Will you both leave me the fuck alone?”

Jason had pulled on a coat and slung a bag over his shoulder. Bruce, in a white button up and crisply pressed trousers, stood rooted to the spot in the center of the room. His looming presence did nothing to calm the atmosphere.

“Jason,” he said in an irritatingly rational tone, “you’re overreacting.”

As Tim and Conner emerged from the doorway, his eyes flashed towards them. Conner caught the swift moment of recognition, brief flash of anger, and then calm. Bruce’s expression flattened into something controlled and entirely unnatural. It made Conner’s stomach turn. He remembered the man from Lex’s dinner and wondered how many masks Bruce Wayne wore.

“Show Mr. Kent out,” Bruce said, tone leaving no room for question.

Conner crossed his arms, and made no move to leave. Tim ignored both of them in favor of delicately placing himself between Bruce and Jason. It was a move that spoke volumes, but bothered Conner, both because it implies that there were sides here and Tim was on Jason's, and that despite Jason being the most reckless of any of the Waynes, Tim felt he needed protecting.

Jason tensed. Conner sympathized. He knew what it could feel like to face a room full of people who thought they knew better than you, even well meaning ones.

“All of you get out of my way.”

“So you can do what?” Bruce asked. And he sounded so close to Lex. The tone that said I know what’s good for you and you can’t do anything about it.

“So I can fucking leave. Or am I prisoner here too?”

Bruce didn’t say anything, and when Dick made the mistake of taking a step forward Jason whirled around. “I said back off, Dick.”

“Jay, we’ve got to-”

“I’m leaving.”

Jason marched towards the exit and Conner ducked out of the way to let him pass. There wasn’t a vampire hunter in the world scary enough to convince Conner to stop whatever nonsense Jason was up to. The rest of his family watched Jason go, and while Conner had never been stealthy, all bulky frame and loud backtalk, he had grown up for a long time learning to be seen not heard. So as the eyes of all of Bruce Wayne’s children turned to their adoptive father, Conner let himself fade into the background.

“Nice work, B,” Dick said, after they heard the front door slam. From anyone else the comment would have sounded short tempered, but from him it just sounded tired. Dick probably had a really hard time being mean, let alone scolding his father of at least ten years.

Bruce frowned, and straightened up, adjusting his shirt collar before turning towards Conner’s place at the door. Duke had slipped into the room. Like all the Waynes he could move without sound when he wanted.

“I don’t suppose you plan to tell me where he went,” Bruce addressed Duke.

Duke held up his hands, “Sorry. I swore to use my powers only for good.” A pause. “We should all take a break. Tensions have been running little high around here for a while.”

“Good idea,” Bruce said. He seemed to be falling into a more natural manner of speaking, stoic mask of calm slowly dissipating to be replaced by deep frown lines and a dark stare. “Tim, escort your  _ guest _ off the premises.”

For a moment Conner thought Tim might protest. Instead Tim turned to Dick, who apparently held a lot of power in this family because he nodded, and Tim sighed and said, “Come on, Conner.”

“You’ll text me, right?” Conner asked, as he was lead away

“Alfred will drive you home. Stop getting attacked in alleyways.”

“Tim.”

“Let’s get your stuff and get you home.”

* * *

Clark was in a manic mood when Conner came home. He had newspaper clippings neatly stacked on the table by his take out lunch. Conner tried to be polite, but by the time Alfred had dropped him off back at his apartment he just wanted to collapse into something soft. He worried that if he opened his mouth, all his thoughts would come tumbling out in a jumble of nonsense, so instead he locked himself in his room.

He never even got to study for English class.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Jonaira!
> 
> And to all of you who've been reading thank you for sticking it out <3
> 
> You’ll notice we now have a tentative ending. We’ll see how well I can keep it (sometimes I overestimate how much I need to write. But then again I thought we’d be doing the vampire reveal at chapter 10 so I’m still at risk of writing more)


End file.
